


Cereal for Breakfast

by Rehela



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 11:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20907005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehela/pseuds/Rehela
Summary: When Jenny checks into a bed-and-breakfast for the night, she's about to enter a fight for her life.  But, to her attackers' surprise, she's not about to die without one hell of a fight...





	1. Prologue

Wallace knew that his guests were getting bored; it had been too long since their last party, after all. And bored guests became guests that left, which meant an immediate loss of income and an eventual bad reputation in the community. And reputation was _very_ important. Wallace’s bed-and-breakfast was small, yes, but it was well run. He was proud of that. Once he got a guest, they tended to stick around and they would tell others how happy they were. Basic Business 101, really. Get a good product, get people to know about it, and the cash would flow in.

_But first you need the product_, he moodily thought as he stared out of his bedroom (and office) window at the heavy rain and occasional flashes of lightning. His bed-and-breakfast was quite out of the way – something that his guests always appreciated – so the possibility of a visitor wandering over in this storm was unlikely. The weather in this place was usually fairly mild, so the occasional traveller would come over. Mostly college students looking for a cheap place to do some hiking in the nearby forest trails. Wallace had heard that the trails were nice; hiking wasn’t his thing, especially with how busy he was running the place, but a few of his guests walked around there whenever he hadn’t provided entertainment. The forest was quiet and very dense, with lots of parts that could go unexplored for months.

But his guests only did that when there wasn’t entertainment, which was what he kept focusing on. He couldn’t depend on something just falling into his lap; maybe it was time to go searching. He wasn’t as good at that part of the job. He much preferred running the bed-and-breakfast and setting up the parties. Getting the stuff wasn’t as much fun. But the waiting between parties was the absolute worst part of the job.

His computer chimed and a message popped up on his screen: the front door had been opened. His guests tended to use the backdoor if they felt like going outside. So that must have meant that someone else had come in.

He called up the lobby camera and grinned when he saw a young woman by the desk, tapping the call bell. Faintly, he could hear it ring from down the hall. As the responsible bed-and-breakfast owner, he just had to greet this new visitor himself.

Someone knocked at his door and he grunted permission for them to enter. One of his guests cracked the door open, just enough to peek in.

“Wallace,” Cody said. “There’s someone in the lobby.”

“I know,” he murmured, getting up and straightening his tie. “Poor thing looks completely drenched, doesn’t she?”

“Bad storm out there.”

“Well, let’s see if we can give her a hand.”

*

The woman standing by his front desk, looking curiously around the lobby, was of fairly average height, but stocky. She had shoulder-length light blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail, glasses with pink frames, and a battered pink suitcase. She, her suitcase, and her clothes – ratty sneakers, plain jean shorts, and a pink shirt (someone had a favourite colour) – were all dripping water onto his formerly clean hardwood floor. She perked up when he walked over.

“Hello!” she brightly said. “Do you have any free rooms? I _really_ hope that you do.”

“We do!” he said, sitting down and booting up his computer. “Is that storm as bad out there as it looks from in here?”

“Worse,” she groaned. “I’m _so_ glad that I ran into this place, because driving was getting really scary. There are a lot of hills, right? Thought that I was going to drive off the road at some points! And getting lost, too… Am I even close to a town?”

“There’s one about a twenty minute drive away.”

“Through more hills, I bet. Guess it’s safer to just stay put for the night. How much are you?”

He quoted the price, which he knew was low enough to attract customers, but not low enough to scare them into thinking that they’d found a crack den or something. The woman seemed pleased with the price, because she went digging through her purse for her wallet.

“What brings you to these parts?”

“Eh, not much. Was just wandering around. Thinking about checking out those forest hikes you have nearby, maybe? Are they any good?”

“I think Henry walks there a lot. Oh, Henry’s one of the people staying here. He’s actually been here for quite some time; likes the area. The other guests have stayed for a while as well. You could say that we’ve all become friends. Could I see your ID, miss?”

“Jenny,” she said, sliding her driver’s license across the desk. She grinned when he glanced up at her. “If we’re all friends here, you might as well call me Jenny! Not Jennifer though. So old fashioned, right? Or Jen. Jen’s so short.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jenny,” he said, with his friendliest smile. He typed in the license’s number and hit enter, letting his program analyze it. “You’re going hiking all alone?”

“That was the plan.”

“Friends didn’t want to come?”

“Ugh, they never want to do _anything_.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re all so busy with work, you know? I could disappear for a week and they’d still be obsessing over meetings and deadlines.” She took back her license and passed him her credit card.

He typed that number as well, but didn’t send it anywhere.

“Hey, do you not get cell service here? My phone’s not giving me anything.”

Lovely that she’d brought it up. Usually, he had to find a way to drop it into the check-in process. “Yes, sorry about that. The service here is actually very spotty; something about the hills, I think. And we are quite far from town. Were you expecting a call? Need to check in with someone?”

“I wanted to check my blogs,” she sheepishly admitted. “Do you have wi-fi?”

“Something like it,” he said, rummaging through the desk drawer and pulling out a cable. “Do you mind if I plug in your phone? I have a special encryption on the Internet here. Was having some issues with the town teenagers, so had to lock it down.”

She plugged in her phone and he walked her through setting up the wi-fi and phone service. He was a humble man, but even he had to admit that the software he’d developed was pretty brilliant. Especially how it was so easy; he never even had to touch the other person’s phone.

“Got it,” she said. “Good to unplug?”

“Unplug away. And enjoy your blogs!”

She giggled.

“So you’re all done. I can lead you upstairs, if you’d like. And then, once you’re settled in, you should come down to the lounge. I think everyone’s down there now; evenings are usually pretty quiet here. We mostly just hang out and read.”

“All friends?”

“All friends.”

He led her upstairs to the visitor’s room: second floor, furthest from the staircase. He was halfway down the hall when he realized that she wasn’t following him anymore. Instead, she was at the railing, staring down at the first floor lobby beyond it.

“It’s an odd layout, I know,” he said, “but it does open up the lobby.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Scared of heights?”

“Oh no, it’s just…” She held the railing and gently shook it; it rattled. “This looks loose.”

Wallace fought down a grimace; he couldn’t believe that he’d missed fixing something between parties. “Thanks for spotting that. I’ll definitely take a look at it. But we should get you into your room.”

She let go of the railing and trailed after him to the visitor’s room. He swept open the door and dropped the key into her hand.

The room wasn’t small, but definitely not big. Comfortable. Beige wallpaper, light brown carpet, plain double bed, nightstand, desk, tiny bookshelf, phone. Very clean, very sterile.

“Standard room,” he said. “Nothing special, but it is better than staying out in the rain. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen, which is downstairs on the left side of the desk. Full fridge and well-equipped.”

“Oh, I can’t cook worth crap.”

“Well, there is snack food there as well. And I’ll serve a delicious breakfast tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it! But more looking forward to a shower and dry clothes.” She pushed her suitcase into the room and smiled at him. “So I guess that I’ll see you in the lounge?”

“Not tonight,” he said. “I have some work to do.”

*

About twenty minutes later, Jenny left her room, clean and dry and wrapped in the housecoat she’d found in her bathroom. She gave herself a tiny tour of the inn. Four doors on the second floor, each of which she assumed led to a room, and another four doors in the hallway behind the lobby on the first floor. The kitchen and a tiny dining area, the latter of which seemed to look out onto a garden, although it was hard to tell through the rain.

And, on the other side of the lobby, she could hear people chatting. That had to be the lounge; unsurprisingly, when she poked her head in, that was exactly what it was. A cozy room with a flickering fireplace, overstuffed chairs, and a wide window that must have also given a view of the garden.

There were people in there: four, that she could see. An elderly woman sitting by the dying fire, a teenaged girl playing on her phone, a man chewing on his fingernails, and a slightly older man typing at a laptop.

She shrank back, debating whether to go back to her room, especially in her somewhat state of undress, but was spotted before she could make a decision.

“Hi!” the teenage girl said, skipping to the door and leaning uncomfortably close to Jenny. “Are you the one who just checked in?”

“She must be, JJ,” the elderly woman said, putting her book to the side. “Who else could she be? Now stop bothering her.”

The girl – JJ, who seemed to be about eighteen, with a bright purple headscarf and dark, wide eyes – dramatically sighed and flopped back onto a couch.

“I’m so sorry about JJ,” the woman said. “She’s excitable. I’m Penelope.”

“Jenny.”

“Let me see you, dear,” Penelope said, gesturing for Jenny to sit beside her. The fire reflected off of her glasses as Jenny faced her. “Were you caught in this dreadful storm?”

“Just from the car to the building, but that was enough!”

“Well, feel free to drop by my room sometime tonight. I enjoy a cup of tea before bed and I believe that it will do you some good. Don’t want to get sick, do you?”

“Not if I can avoid it.”

The finger biting man snorted. “You don’t get sick from getting wet. The rain doesn’t have the cold virus in it.”

“Well, Martin, a cup of tea is nice before bed anyway.”

He snorted again and resumed chewing on his thumbnail.

“And that’s Lawrence,” Penelope said.

The other man, sitting in the corner at his laptop, flinched slightly at hearing his name. He glanced up at her through his glasses, politely nodded, and went back to work.

“Hello,” he absentmindedly said. “Don’t mind me. Deadline coming up. You know how finance is.”

“Hi,” Jenny said, turning back to Penelope. “Are there a lot of people staying here?”

“Just six of us. Us four and two other men. And you now, I suppose. I’m sure that Henry will show up eventually. He may not stay, but he will show up. And then there’s Cody.”

“What about Cody?”

“Cody’s working on something,” Penelope said, softly smiling. “He almost never spends time with us down here. Always so busy hidden up in his room. A nice man, though. Everyone here is so nice.”

“Are you trying to sell me a timeshare here or something?”

Penelope laughed. “Oh goodness, is that what it sounds like? No, not at all. I just quite like it here. It’s a nice place to stay. And Wallace is so attentive to our needs.”

“It does sound like a nice place.”

A slender man with curly black hair walked in and twitched when he saw Jenny. Then he walked to a bookshelf and starting searching through the titles.

Penelope looked over at him. “Henry, don’t you want to meet our newest guest?”

Henry did not, in fact, look like he wanted to meet Jenny. He quickly nodded at her and then exited the lounge with his book.

“Ugh,” JJ said, with a giggle. “Henry is _totally_ lame.”

“Don’t speak of people like that,” Penelope scolded. “He’s just busy.”

“Everyone’s busy,” she whined.

“You’ll be busy too, once school starts.”

“_Ugh_, don’t mention _school_!”

Jenny smiled, then stifled a yawn.

“Tired, dear?”

“I’m pretty tired,” Jenny admitted. “It was a bad drive. Going to turn in. Heard that Wallace makes breakfast?”

“Really good breakfast!” JJ said. “He can get really fancy. Maybe he’ll make waffles tomorrow. Those are the best.”

“Waffles are great,” Jenny said, softly laughing. She said her goodnights to everyone and then headed upstairs.

Once she got in the upper hallway, she paused.

A man that towered over her by half a foot was in the hallway, leaning against a cracked-open door two doors from her room. He was scowling slightly, which distorted his otherwise not bad looking features. He stared at her, focused enough that she squirmed and could feel her cheeks starting to flush.

“You must be Cody,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Penelope said that you were working on something?”

He didn’t say anything.

“So, um… This looks like a nice bed-and-breakfast. I’m really lucky that I could get a room in here. Have you stayed here for a long time?”

Still nothing.

“…Well. Good night, then.” She walked past him, glad that he was leaving her enough room to not have to brush against him.

“Heading in for the night?”

She jerked to a stop and turned to give him a nod. “Yeah, I think so. Planning on heading out pretty early tomorrow. Heard that the trails are really nice first thing in the morning. You ever been on them?”

“No.” He went off into the room, without so much as a ‘good night’. She heard a ‘click’ as he turned the lock.

She frowned at his closed door, shrugged, and walked past the next door to reach her room.

*

Wallace made sure that Jenny was in her room before he joined everyone in the lounge; they were all sitting in silence, obviously waiting for him. JJ squeaked when he entered and muttered an apology when Penelope gently hushed her.

“Jennifer Cobb,” he announced to his gathered guests. “Please: call her Jenny.

“Twenty-seven years old. Unmarried, no kids, lives across the country. Fairly average part of her city, decent apartment building. Nothing particularly noteworthy in her phone. Last phone call was to a pizza place. Last text message to her boss was a week ago, saying that she was going to be late that morning. She texted her mother two days ago, saying that she’d landed safely and that she was looking forward to some hiking. Texted a friend a day before that about getting drinks sometime. Otherwise, not much communication.

“Seems relatively easygoing. Friendly.” He grinned. “Unsuspecting.”

He could tell that his guests already knew what his verdict would be. JJ was squirming with excitement, Lawrence was smiling, and Martin was snickering. Cody and Penelope looked grimly pleased. Only Henry remained completely expressionless.

“And so, my friends, I say this: let the party begin.”

*

The Internet on her phone died in the middle of a video about cats jumping in and out of boxes. She groaned, sent a test text which went undelivered, and tossed her phone onto the nightstand. She whipped off her glasses and collapsed on the bed.

She lay there, glasses twirling around her fingers, staring at the blurry ceiling. It was still pretty early – just past ten o’clock – but she didn’t feel like hanging out with a group of strangers who all seemed to be such good friends. What a weird concept for a bed-and-breakfast, having people stay in one place for so long. Maybe it was more like a shared house? Well, it wasn’t like she was going to stay for very long. Maybe she should head down to get the Internet back up or pull out one of the books she’d brought.

Something rattled.

She slipped her glasses back on and glanced at the door. Was that the doorknob? She’d locked the door, so they weren’t going to have any luck. The knob moved slightly, rattling again; yes, someone was trying to get in.

_CLUNK._

She jolted upright. “Hello?” she called.

_CLUNK_.

Whoever that was, they weren’t knocking. They were trying to break in.

_CLUNK CLUNK._

She dashed to the door, which she just realized didn’t have a peephole. And so, instead of trying to figure out who was slamming into the door, she went to the dresser. With a loud grunt, she pushed it over; it landed across the door with a loud crash that had to have been audible to anyone in the hall. And possibly the whole building.

The person outside paused for a second and then resumed doing their best to knock the door down. The door looked solid enough, and the dresser would be a decent obstacle if they did manage to get in, so she ran back to her purse.

She unlocked her cell phone, scowled at the complete lack of bars and Internet, and grabbed the landline. No signal, no response when she pressed buttons.

_CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK.._

The only other door led to the windowless bathroom; no escape there. She yanked the curtains in the bedroom to the side, revealing a window with absolutely no way of opening.

_CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK._

She crouched next to the dresser, pushing it closer to the door. It vibrated slightly with every _CLUNK_, but neither it nor the door moved. After about a minute, she could hear loud swearing; mostly things about her being a ‘fucking cunt’ and a ‘too clever bitch’. And, below that, the sound of retreating footsteps. She stayed there, barely breathing, until she couldn’t hear anything in the hall.

“Well,” she softly said, pressing her forehead against the dresser and closing her eyes. “Fuck.”


	2. Part One

_Jenny. Don’t panic, Jenny_, she told herself, taking deep breaths and focusing on the rough wood against her skin. _Don’t panic. Someone would have heard that. Heard something._

Someone had to have heard something, but no one was reacting to it. Or, at least, not coming over to see what was going on. Maybe she couldn’t hear them coming, over her rapid heartbeat. But about a minute later, when no one yelled to make sure that everything was okay, she realized that it was pretty unlikely that anyone was going to come. Maybe they were all still downstairs? Maybe she and the nutcase who’d been slamming on her door hadn’t been making as much noise as she thought?

_You knocked over a whole dresser. There’s no way that no one would have heard _that_. Especially that one guy – Cody? – who’s only a few doors down. Someone heard that and they’re not coming to see what’s up._

She pushed the dresser a few inches to the side, enough to reveal a bit of the door, and laid on her stomach. There was a tiny crack between the bottom of the door and the floor, which she tried to look through. She couldn’t see any feet on the other side. She couldn’t see much of anything, to be honest.

The heaviest thing in her room was the ugly ceramic lamp by the bed; she unplugged it, wrapped the cord around her hand, and took it with her when she carefully (and quietly, very quietly) cracked open the door.

The hallway was empty. No sign that someone had been trying to break in a few minutes earlier. She almost wondered if she had imagined it. But no. No, she wouldn’t have pushed a dresser over. Her imagination wasn’t that wild.

She eased the door closed again and made sure that it was locked. Then she went back to the bed, put her phone back into her purse, and secured the purse over her shoulder. Just in case she had to make a sudden run.

She tiptoed out, tensed to run back to her room if she needed to, and knocked on the door next to hers. No answer. Cody was the next one over; he had given her the creeps. Maybe he was the one who’d been trying to get in? She didn’t even know whose room she was knocking at right now; maybe _that_ person was the guy.

She knocked again. Still no reply.

“Shit,” she said.

Should she try knocking on doors downstairs? What if she knocked on the attacker’s door? She didn’t even know where Wallace’s bedroom was. Surely he’d want to know if someone staying in his bed-and-breakfast was doing stuff like this? But… What if _he_ was the one? He’d seemed nice. But could she really go knocking on every door, hoping that she wouldn’t run into the attacker?

Maybe she should just leave. Maybe a bit drastic, especially since she could still hear the storm, but she’d sleep better in her car. Yeah, she’d do that. Grab her suitcase and get out of the building. She should have just slept in her car to begin with, really. She never stayed in hotels without reading reviews online. When she got home, she was going to give this place _such_ a bad review.

Footsteps. Someone was coming up the stairs. One of the men – Martin, she was pretty sure, the one who’d been chewing his nails – was already at the top of the stairs and heading down the hall towards her.

She almost told him about what had happened. Almost. But she noticed that crazed look his eyes and how _fast_ he was moving. So, instead, she ran back into her room.

She got there before he did. But she wasn’t able to lock the door in time; he pushed it open, nearly knocking her off of her feet, and shoved his way in. He stumbled over the dresser, but unfortunately didn’t fall.

“What the _fuck_?” she snapped, retreating to the bed. “Were you here earlier? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?!”

He made some weird sound that she guessed was supposed to be a laugh. It sounded more like a wheeze. “Nothing’s wrong!”

“Then what are you _doing_? You broke into my fucking room! This is crazy!”

“Not crazy,” he said, in a very crazy tone. “Not crazy at all. I’ll win. I know I’ll win. I’ve won a lot. So many times. I like winning.”

He kept walking forward, slow step by slow step. She couldn’t back up anymore; she was already pressed against the nightstand.

“I’m one of the best,” he continued ranting. “I’m so good at it. I want to show you how good I am.”

He pulled a long, jagged knife out from behind his back.

“Oh,” Jenny said. “What the hell.”

“I like this,” he said, tracing the blade’s jagged edge. His finger caught on some of the spikes; droplets of blood slid down the metal. “It’s a good weapon. Solid. Excellent.” He made that noise again. “Painful. I think that it’s painful. People scream so much when I use it. I like hearing that. When are you going to scream? Some people say that they won’t. But they always do. Always. Always, always…”

He was almost on her now, boxing her into the corner that she’d stupidly put herself in. He reached out (thankfully, with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife) and grabbed her arm, squeezing painfully.

“Can you start screaming now?”

She swung that ugly, old, _heavy_ lamp.

Ugly it may be, but the lamp was a sturdy one: it didn’t even crack when she smashed it over Martin’s head. Unfortunately, his head didn’t crack either. He did scream and flail quite a lot though. She hit him again, just in case, and then dashed out of the room. She closed the door – that wasn’t going to help, the lock was on the inside, he’d be able to get out so easily – and ran down the hall, down the stairs, and across the lobby.

Fuck it, she’d risk driving in the storm.

The front door was locked.

She looked for the lock and swore when she saw that it wasn’t designed to be unlocked by just anyone: it was held shut by a numeric keypad. And she doubted that she had the time to try random combinations; her bedroom door and a possible concussion weren’t going to keep Martin away for too long.

There had been doors leading outside in the kitchen and lounge. Maybe they weren’t locked, or were at least easier to unlock. She should go check those out.

Someone giggled.

She froze. At least it wasn’t Martin – too high-pitched – but it didn’t sound very pleasant. She turned around and gaped at the figure leaning against the front desk: short, slim, wearing a skin-tight black catsuit with a matching corset and tall boots, both decorated with silver buttons. She – the outfit made it obvious that this was a woman – was also wearing a black bandana to hide her nose and mouth, although nothing was covering her eyes or upbraided, thick dark hair.

“JJ?” Jenny hesitantly asked. “Is that you?”

The figure giggled again. The exact same giggle that JJ had used while talking about how ‘totally lame’ Henry was. The eyes shining with merriment over the mask were also JJ’s.

“What the hell are you wear…” Jenny viciously shook her head, physically brushing away that line of thought. “JJ, we have to get out of here. Martin’s gone completely crazy, I don’t know what he’s doing, but he tried to hurt me. Tried to break into my room. Twice. And I think that he wants to kill me. We have to get help, okay? My phone doesn’t work anymore. Couldn’t get the one in my room working either. Does your cell phone have any reception? We have to phone the police.”

“Martin did that?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know if _he_ was the one who tried to break in. It sounded like him. But he definitely…” She held up her arm, revealing the bright red marks that had already appeared. “He grabbed me, tried to throw me around. C’mon JJ, let’s get someone. Maybe one of the guys can hold him down? Until the police get here. Is he crazy or something?”

“Martin’s not _all_ there,” she admitted, in a sing-song tone. “He’s a little bit coo-coo, I guess. A bit scary, sometimes!”

“‘Coo-coo’,” Jenny flatly repeated. “JJ, are you saying that Martin’s psychotic? Is he supposed to be on some meds? And what the hell are you _wearing_?”

“Do you like it?” She traced her hands down the outfit, lingering on her hips and thighs. “I made it myself! I guess that it’s a _bit_ dramatic, but I like it. I’m a very dramatic person sometimes, right?”

Jenny stared.

“So, anyway…”

The voice, the giggle, and the eyes had all been JJ’s. And so the knife that she had pulled out from behind her back and was now fingering had to belong to JJ as well.

“What is _that_?” Jenny asked, stumbling backwards until she hit a wall. “JJ, what the actual _fuck_ are you doing? I-Is that a knife?”

“Yep!”

“Why do you have a knife?”

JJ giggled again, nearly pricking herself with the blade. It wasn’t jagged like Martin’s, but the tip looked very, very sharp. “Aw, you haven’t guessed? Silly, silly Jenny!”

She tried to press even further back, tried to melt into the wall.

“I was so excited when you showed up! I’ve never gotten a girl before! Martin’s gotten _so many_ girls, so I’m so happy that he didn’t get you this time! Gives me a chance!”

“Gotten?” Jenny whispered. “A chance to…” She swallowed, eyes darting to the staircase and back to the girl. “Oh fuck. A chance to _kill_ me?”

“Yeah! I’ve killed boys before. Lots of boys! And I’m getting kinda bored of boys. Martin says that girls make much better noises. And they scratch more.” Her head tilted to the side and her eyes crinkled; there had to be a massive grin underneath her mask. “Do you scratch, Jenny? Or are you gonna hit me with the lamp? Is that how you got away from Martin? Aw, that must have hurt. Maybe he should be more careful!”

“JJ,” Jenny pleaded. “Why are you guys doing this?”

“I dunno!” she said, with an incredibly dramatic shrug. “I know why _I_’m doing it. But Martin’s just _weird_. Like, super weird.”

In Jenny’s opinion, the girl wearing the messed-up ski suit and holding a knife had no right to comment on anyone else’s weirdness. She wasn’t going to say that though, because God knew how JJ’s personal weirdness was going to manifest itself.

Stabbing, Jenny guessed. It was probably going to be stabbing.

“JJ,” she calmly said. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. Or why Martin attacked me. I’m pretty scared right now.”

“Good!”

She gritted her teeth. _Don’t argue with her, Jenny. She’s obviously not going to participate in a rational argument. Just stay calm._

“Please just walk away from me, okay?”

Instead, JJ sprinted across the lobby.

Jenny swung the lamp; it hit JJ right in the corset, which made her let out an ‘oof’ and a breathless giggle. Her next swing went wild and hit the wall, with a loud crack. She wasn’t sure how much longer the lamp would last. Not as long as JJ’s choice of weapon, which she was slashing around as she giggled.

The knife slid across Jenny’s arm, drawing a line of blood; if she hadn’t dodged, it would have gone into her shoulder. She hissed in pain and hit the ground, then rolled away as JJ leapt at her. This time, the blade hit nothing but the floor, JJ slamming down right after it. Jenny pulled herself up and used the wall as support as she ran for the stairs.

“Come _on_!” JJ whined, jumping up. “It’ll be better if I do it! Stop moving!”

Jenny made it halfway up the stairs before JJ grabbed her arm. A brief tug-of-war ensued, where JJ tried to pull Jenny back down and stab her at the same time, while Jenny struggled to keep away. Finally, the woman sharply twisted, yanking JJ off balance; with a squeal, she tumbled down the stairs.

Jenny would have followed, had she not clung desperately to the banister. She watched JJ curl up at the bottom of the staircase, grabbing her head and groaning. Then she ran up the rest of the stairs.

_Please still be downstairs,_ she thought, jumping into her room and locking the door. _Please, please don’t tell me that I’ve locked myself in here with Martin. I really hope he didn’t sneak back in here while I wasn’t looking._

If he was in here, he didn’t immediately attack her. She searched the room, which didn’t take long. Not too many places that a tall, muscular man could hide. Nothing suspicious. Other than the knocked-over dresser, of course.

Jenny dropped the lamp, which was the final straw for the thing: it shattered on the floor. She shouldn’t have done that. She could have used it for one last hit: if one of those two nutcases had attacked her again, she could have smacked them with the lamp. The shards could have embedded themselves in their face. Now the lamp was useless.

“Fuck,” she groaned, sliding to the ground and pinching the bridge of her nose.

Someone started pounding on her door.

“Oh fuck off!” she screamed.

She didn’t know who that could be. Martin’s thing seemed to be hitting her door, but JJ had been right behind her. Honestly, she didn’t care _who_ it was. Both of them wanted to stab her. Didn’t matter which one was currently trying to do it.

There was the _slimmest_ possibility that it was someone other than those two, she guessed. There were five other people in the building. But they would have investigated earlier, if they were going to investigate at all. Jenny and the two lunatics had not been very quiet, after all. Someone had to have heard them. That no one had checked to see what the hell was going on… Well, that left three options.

One: unbeknownst to Jenny, everyone in the building was very, very deaf. Yes, Jenny had spoken to all of them earlier. But maybe they’d all been wearing hearing aids that they took out before bed.

Two: they had heard all of the commotion and were too scared to leave their rooms. If Jenny had heard swearing and screams of murder, she would have immediately gone to help. But some people froze when things got dangerous. There was no shame in that. Maybe the other people here were all terrified.

Three: they heard. They knew that Jenny was in danger. And they didn’t care.

Jenny hoped that option two was the correct one. It probably wasn’t. But it was nice to hope for nice things.

“Let me in!” the person hitting her door screamed. JJ. She’d made it up the stairs and was following Martin’s example. “Come on, Jenny! You can’t stay in there forever!”

Unfortunately, that was true. She could stay in here for a while, but eventually either Martin or JJ would get bored or frustrated and start resorting to stronger methods than beating down the door with their bare hands. Even if there weren’t tools in the building (although she was sure that there were), the nearest town wasn’t _that_ far away. Give them an hour, maybe two, and they could be at her bedroom door with a sledgehammer or an axe. And then what would Jenny do? With her worthless cell phone and her broken lamp and her spare clothing.

If she was lucky, she’d last a few minutes. If she was very unlucky, she’d last a few hours as they played with her.

JJ kept knocking and whining and Jenny was starting to get a headache from listening to her complaining about how unfair locked doors were. And how she would make it quick if Jenny just gave up now. But it wasn’t _fair_, how Jenny was just hiding there. What a coward. Such a coward.

_Yeah_, Jenny thought. _I am a coward, aren’t I?_

She wasn’t sure how long JJ stayed there, hitting the door and begging for Jenny to come out. At least five minutes. Maybe closer to ten. But the girl eventually got bored and left. Or at least stopped talking. Maybe she had decided that staying quiet may lure Jenny out.

Jenny idly wondered if Martin would come over to start knocking, now that JJ had apparently given up. Maybe the two of them would just kill each other and leave her alone for the rest of the night. Then she could get some sleep. Oh, there was an idea: just sleep until other people woke up and finally took action.

She heard a faint scratch from the other side of the door. Damn, it sounded like JJ was still there. What a persistent little bitch.

She curled into a little ball on the bed, staring at the crack underneath the door. She couldn’t see anything from this angle and distance. But she could hear the scratching. And she could hear her heartbeat, as it went from frenzied to slow.

She could hear her breathing. In, out. In, out. She was still breathing. She was okay for now.

*

She thought about sleeping, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Finally, she eased out of the bed and peeked under the door. No one, as far as she could tell. She grabbed a piece of the lamp, which she figured could work as a pseudo knife until she went down and found something better. Kitchen, if she could make it. There would be actual knives in there. And the back door, which had to lead to freedom.

The hall was empty. So were the stairs. She focused on keeping her breath quiet the whole way downstairs.

The kitchen was dark, except for the faint glow of the clock on the stove (nearly twenty minutes past eleven). It was also thankfully empty, as far as Jenny could tell. She tiptoed through the kitchen, pressed against the wall to guard her back, until she reached the doorway in the dining area. There was a conveniently placed bucket of umbrellas by the door; she took one and went outside.

It looked like it would have been a nice garden if it wasn’t pouring. Luckily, the porch light was on; she didn’t have to worry about tripping over anything. She walked away from the house, sneakers squishing in the mud, until she found the fence. Well, maybe not a ‘fence’. ‘Wall’ would have been a better word: ten feet tall and made of stone with no handholds.

“Is that fucking barbed wire?” she muttered, squinting at the top of the wall. There was something pointy up there, but she couldn’t tell if it was decorative iron or legitimately barbed wire. Either way, she’d rip her hands open if she tried to climb over. And getting up there at all would be a pain in the ass without a ladder.

She could find a ladder, she guessed. Then drag it through the garden – and possibly through the building, depending where the hypothetical ladder was stored – making tons of noise as she went. It’d be safer if she just threw a chair through the front windows. At least, in that case, she wouldn’t be holding a goddamn ladder when Martin and JJ went after her.

She peeked inside, confirmed that no one was there, and went in. She put the umbrella back but left the door cracked open; maybe they’d see it and think that she was still outside.

She stood in the kitchen, looking around for _something_ that could help her. Another door, which would hopefully lead to an outdoor area without a wall. A phone that was actually working. But no: it was just a regular kitchen, albeit a very well-stocked one. Perfect for cooking for large groups. Fire extinguisher and all.

And underneath the fire extinguisher…

Jenny opened up the fire safety cabinet and grabbed the axe hanging there. It wasn’t very big – she could lift it with one hand – although big enough that she would need two hands to swing it safely.

She propped it onto her shoulder and closed the cabinet.

*

She made it upstairs before she ran into trouble again. And ‘trouble’ was Martin, who was back to hitting her door. Apparently he didn’t know that she wasn’t in there, because he seemed as surprised as she was when their eyes met.

“Gonna fight back?” he asked, nearly drooling as he stared at the axe. “Oh, that’s a nice weapon. I should try that. Maybe use it on you. Not as clean as a knife. Messier than a rope. Maybe I’ll like that. I need to try it. I’m going to take that from you and chop you into little, little pieces and just keep chopping.”

He was still rambling as he dashed towards her.

“Whoa fuck,” she said, swinging her axe back for some momentum but not managing to hit him before he slammed into her.

She lost her grip on the axe and hit the floor, Martin’s weight knocking the air out of her. She saw a flash of metal – _knife, knife, that’s his fucking knife_ – and grabbed his wrist with both of her hands. She dug in her nails until she felt his flesh break and then she kept digging. He dropped the knife and she let go with one hand, long enough to sweep the knife through the gaps of the railing to the lower floor. Then she went back to doing her best to rip through his arm.

He moaned, but it didn’t sound like a pained one. She’d heard moans like that in much more pleasurable circumstances. The asshole sounded like he was enjoying this. Enjoying the pain? Or enjoying the fact that he was about to kill her? Oh, who the fuck cared.

“Will you just piss off!” she screamed, clawing at his face and tearing at his arm. “Will you just leave me alone?!”

He was saying something, but she couldn’t hear it through his moans and pants and her own heavy breathing. She caught snippets of ‘oh yes’ and ‘scream for me’ and that was really all she wanted to hear. And then she couldn’t hear much of anything, other than the ringing in her ears, as she hit her head against the railing.

The wood creaked.

She kept trying to scratch Martin’s eyes out with one hand and reached up with the other, getting a steady grip on one banister. It splintered with one hard yank and broke off with another; she swung the stick and connected with the side of Martin’s face.

He yelped and reeled back, lifting most of his weight off of her. She took advantage of her freedom to kick and roll and try desperately to get him _completely_ off of her.

Suddenly, he wasn’t on top of her. Faintly, she heard a crash.

She dove, grabbed the axe, and sat up. But she hadn’t needed to rush: she was alone.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered, scrambling over and peering through the broken railing, taking care to not slip through and fall.

Martin laid on the floor of the lobby, sprawled and unmoving. From up here, she couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. She hesitantly called out his name and got no reaction, so she headed to the stairs, one hand clinging to the railing and the other holding the axe.

Once she got closer, she knew that he hadn’t survived the fall. It hadn’t been a long fall, but the landing hadn’t been a good one. She wasn’t going to check for a pulse to make sure, but the angle his neck was at didn’t look right. A clear fluid was leaking out of his nose, trailing down his face and pooling onto the hardwood. His eyes were open, unblinking, and unseeing.

She stepped away, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then she raced back upstairs, axe nestled against her chest, and went back into her room. She closed the door, locked it, and pushed the dresser back in front of it. Then she huddled in the corner furthest from the door and stared at it, waiting for someone else to try to break in.

Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. Then they slowed, steadied. She relaxed, loosened her grip on the axe, and murmured: “Well.”

She got up and pulled the curtains to the side. Still raining. Still no way to open the window. To be more accurate: no latch to open the window. She raised the axe and pulled back to swing, then paused. After a moment, she slowly lowered the axe back to her side.

“Well,” she repeated. She adjusted her glasses, which had skewed slightly during her struggle with Martin, and went back into the hallway.

*

She was beyond being surprised that no one was coming out of their rooms to see what the hell all the noise was about. She’d broken a railing and a man had fallen down an entire storey. Quite a bit of noise. She was almost beginning to wonder if Martin or JJ had killed everyone else before going after her. It would explain why no one else was around.

Even though she couldn’t see anyone, she kept _hearing_ things. The rain hitting the roof and windows echoed around her. She heard creaks (_house settling_) and groans (_the wind_) and breathing (_that’s you, you idiot_).

_Paranoid, Jenny. You’re paranoid. If there’s one thing that JJ doesn’t seem to be, it’s quiet. You’d hear her coming._

_But what about everyone else in here?_

She shook her head, so hard that her ponytail slapped both of her cheeks.

_Paranoid._

The rain was louder in the front hall, where she went to try the main door again. The huge windows didn’t provide much insulation from the noise. She paused by Martin’s corpse, then shuddered and continued walking.

The front door was still locked. She tried a few basic combinations – three zeroes, one two three, nine one one – but didn’t have any luck. Math was never her strongest subject. How many potential combinations were there? Too many.

She thumped the door with her axe handle. It felt sturdy; she probably could break it down, although the windows would be easier. And then she’d attract JJ.

Her room had a lock and the guy who’d liked trying to break in was dead and leaking spinal fluid. She guessed that she could hide in there until morning. Although she didn’t think that the sun would stop JJ from trying to kill her. The girl wasn’t a vampire. Still, her room was probably best…

She went back upstairs, but something caught her eye before she reached her room. The door next to hers wasn’t fully closed; it was just resting on the frame. Like someone had been in a hurry to leave and merely thought that they’d closed up after them.

She should ignore it. She had no idea whose room that was. It could be JJ’s room and the girl could be waiting in there with something more dangerous than a knife. Or, maybe, it could belong to someone nice. Like Penelope. She’d seemed very nice in the lounge.

_(So had JJ.)_

At least it wasn’t Cody’s room. He hadn’t been too friendly.

She should lock herself back in her room. She shouldn’t go exploring. But if there was someone or something in there that could help…

She eased the door open.

“Hello?” she whispered into the room, clutching the axe just in case there was someone in there and that someone turned out to be as murderous as everyone else she’d dealt with recently. But no one answered, so she stepped in to investigate.

_Cute_ was the first thought that popped up in Jenny’s head. The room looked remarkably like the one Jenny had been given. Except someone had personalized the place a bit: a bright purple fluffy bedspread, a soft rug that squished under Jenny’s shoes, and posters of boybands and cartoons tacked on the walls.

This had to be JJ’s room. The place screamed ‘teenage girl’, which Jenny supposed that JJ was. Maybe early twenties? Not too far from teens, at least. A bed-and-breakfast wouldn’t decorate like this, unless they expected only young and female guests with very specific interests. And JJ wouldn’t have set all of this up if she was only staying for a few days. How long had she been a guest here?

There was a pad of paper on the desk, half of it filled with very loopy handwriting in sparkly purple ink and surrounded by stickers of rainbows and unicorns. It took Jenny a second to figure out what exactly it was saying, because the writing was so unnecessarily intricate.

_Thanks again for the nice gift! I’m having so much fun shopping and exploring. I can’t wait to show Petra all of the cool jewellery I bought! Can you ask Mama what colour she likes better? Red or green? I found the CUTEST scarf and I think that she’ll look awesome in it. I guess that I can buy both of them, if she can’t decide!_

(Jenny had never seen anyone physically write out so many emoticons – the entire paragraph was sprinkled with smiley faces and hearts.)

_I’ll be home soon, I promise! I have to be back in time to get ready for school. I’m SO looking forward to starting. It’s going to be so much fun and I’m going to get to meet so many people. I guess scary too – it’s such a big, BIG city – but fun! Of course I’m going to miss my friends here, but –_

The letter stopped there, even though it obviously wasn’t done yet. Maybe JJ had heard Jenny leave her room and had decided to set it aside so that she could try to kill her.

The rest of the desk wasn’t overly interesting. Lots of fashion and gossip magazines. A ratty stuffed giraffe in the corner. What looked like the beginning of the letter was tucked away to the side, but Jenny didn’t bother reading it. It was probably more rambling in bad handwriting.

She opened one of the desk drawers, pushed aside a colourful collection of pens, and shuddered. It seemed like JJ also collected knives: there were about ten in in there. All types: jagged bread knives, tiny pointed daggers, and ones that Jenny could only describe as ‘ninja throwing knives’. She opened the next drawer, dreading it, but that one only held electronic chargers and half-empty candy bags.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Jenny flinched. Stupid, stupid; she should have been keeping an eye on the door. JJ stood there, arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed. Jenny was sure that she had the biggest pout imaginable, under that ridiculous mask.

“Um,” Jenny said.

“This is _my_ room!” JJ said, stomping her foot. “I don’t want _you_ in here.”

And Jenny didn’t want to be stabbed. It seemed like no one was getting what they wanted tonight.

“And what’s _that_?”

Jenny wasn’t sure which ‘that’ JJ was referring to, until she noticed that the girl’s eyes were directed at the axe. She held it up.

“An axe,” she said.

“I _know_ that it’s an _axe_,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not _stupid_. Why do you have that? Are you a lumberjack?”

“Something like that.”

“_Ugh_. Where did you even _get_ that. What’re you gonna do? Break down the front door? You’re not gonna leave like that.” She stepped forward, knife ready. “You’re not gonna leave at all!”

That sounded like a line from a horrible cartoon. Maybe that was where JJ got her fashion sense from. She kept walking towards Jenny, lifting her arm to stab.

Jenny whipped the axe around, trying as best she could to hit JJ with the flat of the head. Her aim was good, but the angle wasn’t right: the blade dug into the girl’s skin, sending blood splattering against the wall.

JJ shrieked, recoiling so violently that it was like Jenny had scalded her entire arm with boiling oil instead of merely grazed it with the axe. “Oh God!” she screamed, dropping her knife to cling to her bleeding arm. “Oh my God!”

There was actually quite a bit of blood, Jenny realized. Maybe that hadn’t been a ‘graze’. The arm was still intact – JJ seemed to be moving it without too much trouble – but blood was leaking awfully heavy out of it. If her outfit had been a lighter colour, the entire sleeve would have been red by now.

“Oh God,” JJ whined, loud and high-pitched. “Oh God, it hurts so much! You bitch, it hurts, it hurts so much!”

Jenny backed away, which just made JJ’s head jerk up to stare at her. Tears were leaking down her face, soaking into her mask. She hiccupped and picked up her knife again, leaving her arm free to bleed.

“You bitch! Why did you _do_ that?!”

Jenny lifted up the axe again; this time, JJ cringed away from it. The girl cautiously circled her, any hint of giggling or playing gone. She whimpered and shook and bled as she eyed her target. Jenny pivoted around, making sure to keep JJ in front of her at all times.

_You have a longer reach than she does_, she told herself. _If she gets too close, her knife can do a lot more damage than the axe can. But the axe is stronger. If she stays away, then you’ll be fine. But she knows that too. How fast can she be? If it’s faster than you, then you’re dead._

JJ jerked forward; Jenny sharply swung her axe, sending JJ stumbling backwards. The girl kept sniffling the whole time. Then she whipped her arm and threw the knife at Jenny.

Jenny swore and dodged the knife, then had to dodge JJ as the girl dove at her with another goddamn knife in her goddamn hand. She brought up the axe and slashed it across JJ’s chest.

She fell to the floor. Not dead. She was screaming too much to be dead.

“Stop it!” she wailed, clutching her chest. “Stop it, stop it, **_stop it_**! It hurts! It hurts so much! Oh God, please stop it! Stop hurting me!”

She didn’t stop begging, even when Jenny knelt next to her and gaped at the wound. It was deep, already pooling blood over her breasts and her stomach and the floor. But not _too_ deep. Not deep enough to not be fixed.

“Oh fuck,” Jenny whispered. Then she shook her head, pushed down the panic, and made sure that her voice was steady. “Okay, stop yelling. You’ll be fine.” She folded over a portion of the fluffy rug, pressed it against the worst of the bleeding, and held JJ’s hand to it. “Just keep applying pressure. I need you to hold onto this and don’t – _Fuck!_”

She’d gotten too close to JJ and now she had a knife sticking out of her arm. The girl didn’t let go of the knife’s handle, screaming about the pain even as she pulled the knife down the back of Jenny’s arm. She kept pulling and screaming up until the point when Jenny slammed the axe into her face. Then she stopped doing anything besides gurgling. Then she stopped even that.

Jenny sat back, hands buried into the fluffy rug, and stared. The axe had nearly split the girl’s face in two. Her eyes were open and wide and filled with tears. Jenny tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling instead.

Should she take the knife out? Her arm was hurting quite a bit. But weren’t you supposed to keep stuff in your body, if you got stabbed? The stuff kept you from bleeding out, didn’t it? But she was already bleeding. She could feel the blood sliding down her arm. The knife was barely in her arm anyway; JJ had pulled it mostly out. Jenny pulled it the rest of the way out – hissing through her teeth at the flash of pain – and tossed it aside.

Then she looked back down at JJ, who continued to be dead.

There was a key dangling from one of the buckles on her corset. No pockets in this outfit, Jenny realized with a weak laugh. She examined it: it looked exactly like the key Wallace had given her. It had to be the key to JJ’s room.

She scrambled up and went for the door, carefully opening it and looking into the hall. No one was around. No one had come to JJ’s rescue. They _had_ to have heard it: the girl had been screaming so loudly. But no one was there.

She slipped out of the room and tried the key; as she’d expected, it locked the door. Then she went two doors down (quietly past Cody’s room) and locked herself in.

*

She might need stitches, Jenny decided, after washing out the blood from JJ’s final attack. The knife’s entry point was deep, but she was more worried about the gash going down her arm. After holding a towel against it for a few minutes, the bleeding had slowed down, but it wouldn’t take much to start again. She tested the arm’s movement and sighed, relieved that it didn’t seem like JJ had hit anything vital. Cosmetic damage only, although it stung pretty badly. She did need bandages, which weren’t in her bathroom’s medicine cabinet. (Nothing was there, actually, other than a tiny half-empty bottle of shampoo.)

Not her first set of stitches – hockey as a kid had ensured that – but she wasn’t looking forward to them. Provided she actually got out of here and made it to a hospital. Now that Martin and JJ were dead, getting out looked likely. All she had to do was wake up Wallace and ask him to unlock the door. Yeah, she had nothing to worry about now that Martin and JJ were…

Martin and JJ…

She sat down next to the toilet and looked into the water.

_Jenny_, she told herself. _You have to throw up. That’s what people do when they’re in shock. You don’t feel well. Throw up._

Nothing came up. She just stayed huddled over the toilet, until she wondered why she wasn’t getting up and doing _something_. It didn’t seem like she was going to throw up, so there had to be more productive ways to spend her time.

Like what?

“Fuck,” Jenny said to the water.

Maybe she could try breaking through the front windows. Or give climbing over the garden wall a shot. Or find Wallace, who hadn’t seemed to hear a damn thing that had been going on. Or do something about her arm. She was pretty sure that she’d seen a first aid kit in the kitchen; bandages for her cuts, pills for her stomach, liquor for her actions.

She took up the axe again and wandered downstairs, past JJ’s room. She wasn’t going to go in there again. She didn’t want to see what was in there. She took the kitchen entrance in the hallway instead of going through the lobby. Martin was in the lobby. She didn’t want to see Martin either. The kitchen was blissfully corpse free, which made searching for the first aid kit much easier on her nerves.

It was by the fridge; it looked like it was either well-used or hadn’t been refilled in a while, but there was enough stuff in there for her. She squeezed most of the tube of antibiotic ointment on her arm and rubbed it in, wincing at the sting. But that temporary, sharp pain was _much_ better than infection. She’d rather not have to deal with pus.

Although she could have been neater; now her hand was covered in the ointment. She placed the axe on the counter and washed her hands. For good measure, she used a lot of the antibacterial wash sitting next to the soap. She had to wrap up her arm. Then she could think about her next move. But it would be hard to get out of here if she was bleeding everywhere.

Bandages now. It was going to be a pain to wrap them with one hand, but it wasn’t like she had any other options. Bandages and then she could figure out what to do next. What to do with the two corpses in the building. And the other people who were _still_ not reacting to all of the fucking noise she’d been making.

There was a whisper of sound behind her. Fuck, _she_ hadn’t been paying attention to noise.

Someone grabbed her and shoved a cloth over her nose and mouth. Jenny kicked backwards – her attacker grunted – but she didn’t have the leverage to cause serious pain. Not enough pain to escape. She held her breath for as long as possible, until her eyes and lungs burned. She thought that she could hold it for a few seconds more, but her attacker elbowed her in the stomach and air burst out of her mouth. And the fumes on the cloth went in.

“There we go,” her attacker murmured. She didn’t recognize the voice. Male, but who?

She struggled, but knew that there wasn’t any point. He kept the cloth pressed against her face, softly saying _‘you’re doing so well’_ and _‘just let go, it will be fine’_.

Her vision started to fade. Her arms dropped to her side. Her legs collapsed under her. And everything went horribly dark.


	3. Part Two

_“Jelly bean, jelly bean, my little jelly bean!”_

_She glanced up from the newspaper and chuckled at the man who was expertly flipping pancakes and singing his made-up song._

_“You called?” she asked._

_“Nah.” He looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Just singing the praises of my precious jelly bean!”_

_“Doesn’t sound like you have much good to say, if all you can come up with is ‘little’.”_

_“My darling jelly bean! Cutest! Cleverest!”_

_“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m the best.”_

_“You are.” He joined her at the table, putting a stack of pancakes in front of her and a bottle of syrup in between their places._

_“Real maple syrup?” she said, with a dramatic gasp. “I feel so spoiled!”_

_“Yeah, well…” He ruffled her hair. “You’ve got a big trip coming up. Let me spoil you.”_

*

Jenny slowly opened her eyes and briefly wondered why everything was so blurry. She didn’t wonder for long though: whenever she didn’t feel the comforting weight of her glasses, her vision problems were easily explained. Less easily explained were where her glasses had gone, where she was, and why her body felt covered in silk. And the headache. The headache was very bad.

She sat up – oh, that just made the headache worse – and squinted into the flickering light around her. Even without her glasses, she could tell that this wasn’t her room at the bed-and-breakfast. (Or her bedroom in her apartment, which she spared a wistful thought for before refocusing on her current situation.) The bed was bigger, with posts and a canopy. The sheets were dark, although she couldn’t quite make out what colour they were; the only light came from candles placed nearby. Anything beyond that was obscured by the darkness and her uncorrected vision.

She tugged at her hair, which she never wore down but was now dangling around her shoulders. And she was wearing a white nightgown. Who had undressed her? Who had wrapped a bandage around her arm (red was spotting through it)? At least she could feel her bra and underwear (or what she hoped were _her_ bra and underwear). Last she remembered, someone had grabbed her and…

Was she still in the bed-and-breakfast? Martin and JJ were dead. There were other people in there though. Were all of them…

Her hand brushed against something familiar. She wrapped her fingers around her glasses (they felt intact; plastic frame, hard-duty lenses; her boss had insisted on them after her third broken pair) and she slipped them on. Immediately, everything sharpened. Not that it helped, when the room was still dark.

“I didn’t know how much you needed those,” someone said from behind her.

She spun around (too quickly; her hand jerked to her head to push down the pain the sudden movement had caused) and frowned over the headboard at the man sitting in a chair across the room. The candlelight made it hard to see his features, but he looked like one of the men she’d seen earlier in the lounge. How much earlier? How long had she been asleep?

He was smiling. It wasn’t a very friendly smile.

“Lawrence?” she guessed.

His smile became wider, but by no means friendlier. “You remember me.”

“Yeah,” she said, clinging to the headboard to make sure that she didn’t collapse. (_Fuck, fuck, this headache is **not** good._) “You work in finance.”

“That’s right. Such a good listener.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe.”

‘Safe’ was not a location. She was pretty sure that ‘safe’ was a lie.

“Good to know,” she muttered.

“How are you feeling?”

She sensed that ‘shitty’ was not the right answer. “A bit dizzy.”

He made a sympathetic cooing noise. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

‘I’m dizzy because you drugged me, you moron,’ was also not a good answer. “I… I’ve been having a weird night. You see… Martin…”

He frowned. “Martin? You don’t need to worry about Martin. Did he do something to you? I’ll protect you. He won’t touch you.”

Of course Jenny didn’t need to worry about Martin. Martin was dead. Did Lawrence not know that? She supposed that he could have taken the hallway directly from the kitchen to… She guessed that they were in his room. Was he on the lower or upper floor? Either way, it would have been possible to get from the kitchen to the bedrooms without seeing the man’s body in the lobby. Still, you’d think that Lawrence would have _heard_ them fighting. Unless he was just rambling. She couldn’t tell.

“Yeah,” she said. “He hurt me.”

“Hurt you? How? What did he do to you? How badly are you hurt? Are you alright? Where did he touch you?!”

She shook her head, eager to make him stop talking. “He didn’t hurt me too badly. And I haven’t seen him since.” Not a lie. “So I guess that it’s okay now.”

“Of course it’s okay. No one’s going to _touch_ you now that you’re mine.”

She forced down her initial reaction, which was to start swearing. The next reaction that came to mind was grimacing, which also seemed like a bad idea. Shutting up was the safest option she could think of. Maybe agreeing with him would be safer (at least in the short term), but she couldn’t bring herself to do that.

His eyes were directed at her, but she didn’t think that he was fully seeing her. They looked too unfocused. His smile somehow seemed unfocused too. Almost dreamy. He was definitely looking at her, but she had absolutely no idea what he was seeing.

She eyed the door. Getting there would involve getting out of the bed, not getting caught in the canopy, pushing past him, and _then_ running. With this headache. Not _impossible_, but not something that she wanted to try right now.

Still with that odd expression, he shifted his chair closer to the bed. Close enough to touch her. And then he reached out to do just that. She instinctively froze when his hand brushed against her face. She told herself to stay frozen when that hand cupped her chin. No sudden movements. Don’t even breathe too hard.

“You’re such a beautiful young woman,” he murmured, fingers tracing the curve of her ear and then going down her throat. “Such lovely eyes. I’m so glad that you’re mine.”

“I have a…” She hesitated when his expression twisted into a deep scowl.

“A what?” he darkly said.

“A headache. Could I have some water? And some pain meds, if you have them? My head hurts so badly.” Again: not a lie. Not what she was originally going to say, but not a lie. It felt like she had a horrible hangover; whatever he’d used to knock her out wasn’t treating her nicely.

His smile promptly reappeared and he stroked her hair. “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course I can get you something. I don’t have anything in here, but there’s a first aid kit in the kitchen.”

“Great, I’ll –”

He pushed her down onto the bed, before she could even start to rise. “Don’t you move. You’re not feeling well. I’ll get them and be back very soon.”

“I can –”

“No. No, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you. Just don’t move, alright?” When she didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Alright?”

She nodded.

“Good. I’ll be back soon, my dear.”

Then he actually left. The door locked, but it looked like it was the exact same door as the one in her bedroom: easily unlocked from the inside. It seemed that it would be very easy for her to escape, except she doubted that he had gone anywhere yet. Maybe he was waiting by the door, seeing if she was going to bolt the second that she thought that she was alone. Maybe he had more of that drug that had knocked her out so easily. Maybe he had something deadlier and was ready to use it if she left the room.

No, she was going to stay here for a bit. Investigate the room. Not get potentially stabbed in the hallway.

There were luckily lamps nearby the bed, one on each nightstand; she flicked them both on, lighting up the room much better than the candles could. Speaking of…

“Fucking unsupervised candles,” she grumbled, blowing out the candles around the bed. It looked like they were well-used; the glass jars were almost empty of wax. Had they been burning for a while? Or had he lit them as soon as he suspected that she was going to wake up? How many times had he had someone in this room and lit the candles for… Well, for whatever mood he was going for?

With the fire danger gone, she stood up and clung to one of the bed’s posts as her head pounded and her vision dimmed. _Too fast_, she thought. _Don’t get up so fast_. She waited until she was pretty sure that she wasn’t going to pass out and then stumbled away from the bed. She was _not_ going to think about how Lawrence had gotten her into this nightgown or what else he had done while she was asleep. But he’d kept her glasses, which meant that he may have kept her clothes and her purse and her useless cell phone. Maybe the axe too.

Probably not the axe.

Her head stopped spinning – although there was still a painful pressure – and she eased her way away from the bed. She was definitely in another bedroom at the bed-and-breakfast (assuming she was in the same building): same size as the others she had seen and the bathroom door was in the same spot. Lawrence had just personalized the place: the fancy bed, the cabinet filled with wine bottles and glasses, the dark paint. And one wall that was absolutely covered in…

Jenny adjusted her glasses, telling herself that she _wasn’t_ seeing what she thought she was seeing. She walked up to that wall and groaned. No, she had been right: that _was _what she was seeing.

That was a whip, coiled up and dangling from a hook. And above it, another whip. And beside it, another. She counted the whips and stopped at fifteen; there were more, but she didn’t want to keep counting.

Another section of the wall had crops and paddles. Then knives. Handcuffs. Ropes. Pinchers and branding irons and hooks and… She really didn’t want to keep looking.

This wall was _definitely_ not safe or appropriate. _Good thing there aren’t kids here_, she thought, half hysterically.

In the corner, there was what looked like a dog cage.

“Aw fuck,” she muttered, backing away from the wall until the back of her legs hit the bed. She sat down and stared at the items. The longer she stared, the more she noticed that there were a _lot_ of them.

“Torture chamber,” she quietly said, “or BDSM dungeon?”

She snorted and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes to both push down the headache and stop looking at the wall. She hoped it was all for BDSM: that had safe words, after all. But she didn’t think that Lawrence was the type to follow BDSM rules.

Well, the torture wall was another reason that she didn’t want to stick around here. Lawrence was probably gone by now; she didn’t think that she’d have long before he came back. Now was the time to leave.

The doorknob rattled.

“Fuck,” she breathed, grabbing one of the lamps.

A lamp had worked quite well against Martin. JJ less so. Might as well see how it worked against Lawrence. She ripped the cord out of the wall and lifted up the lamp; it was heavier than the one in her room. Pointier too.

The door opened and a man poked his head in.

It wasn’t Lawrence. Lawrence wasn’t that tall or slim and his hair was dark. This man also seemed mildly surprised that she was holding up an improvised weapon; she was sure that Lawrence would have been angry. And Lawrence wouldn’t have needed the lockpicks this man had just slipped into his pocket.

“Whoa,” he said under his breath, jerking back slightly. He cautiously stepped in and silently closed the door. He stayed pressed against the wall, eyes fixed on the lamp.

She wondered if she could hit him, if he stayed that far away. The headache was making her dizzy. She would probably miss.

“Hi,” he said, half raising his hand in greeting.

She glared at him for a moment and then slowly lowered the lamp. “Hi,” she replied.

Now that she wasn’t preparing to throw the lamp at him, the man’s gaze flickered up and down her body and he snorted. “You’re definitely not the one who’s worn that dress the best.”

She quickly glanced down at the nightgown, but immediately focused on him again. “Cody, right?” she asked, absentmindedly drawing the baggy fabric closer to her chest.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not here to rescue me, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so. Here to kill me?”

“Eh, not at the moment.” He ruffled his hair and loudly sighed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want to kill you as much as everyone else in this place. But I’m not like Lawrence. I don’t…” He vaguely waved at her and then at the collection of instruments behind her. “I don’t do this type of stuff.”

“This being what?” she drily asked. “Ritual sacrifice?”

“Could be. I never asked him what he does or why. Guy creeps me out.”

“I know how you feel. Is he…” She placed the lamp back on the table, fingers tracing the designs along its base as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. “Is he a, you know…” When he didn’t say anything, she continued: “A rapist. Is he planning to rape me?”

“According to him, it’s expressing his true love.”

“Ah fuck. And then he’ll kill me?”

“That’s what he usually does.”

“Usually,” she repeated under her breath. “Does he do this a lot?”

“Whenever he gets the chance, yeah.”

“Oh shit.” She sunk onto the bed and rubbed her temples. “Does he get the chance a lot?”

“Often enough.”

“Can you give me a fucking straight answer, please? I’ve had enough of a weird night without having to deal with this cryptic shit.”

He shrugged. “What do you want me to tell you? Everyone here wants to kill you. It’s a game. We’re given some unsuspecting person and we compete to see who kills them. It’s not that hard of a game to understand.”

“The most dangerous game,” she whispered.

“The Hounds of Zaroff,” he said.

She stared blankly at him.

“Connell?”

“What?”

“Never mind. I majored in literature. Just… Never mind, okay? Point is, you were dead as soon as you stepped into this place. It’s just a matter of who’s going to kill you.”

She gave up on rubbing her temples; it wasn’t helping the headache or the situation. “So you’re saying that _everyone_ wants to kill me.”

“Pretty much, yeah. Sorry about that?”

“You don’t sound very sorry.”

“Well, I don’t think that you’re very surprised. Lawrence wasn’t the first one to go after you tonight.”

“How do you know that?”

He paused, long enough that she almost repeated the question. “I saw them,” he finally said. “Martin and JJ. Did you do that?”

She hesitantly nodded. “An accident,” she whispered.

“Huh.” Another shrug. “Well, that sucks.”

She frowned. “Do… Do you not care that they’re dead?”

It’s not like I was friends with either of them. And it wouldn’t be the first time one of us died.” Shrug, this one even more casual. “Won’t be the last. And if anyone here was going to die, it was going to be those two.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, both of them were pretty careless. Don’t think that either of them would have lasted too long in the real world.”

“The real world?”

“Aw, I made it sound like we’re in Narnia or something, didn’t I. I just meant somewhere that isn’t a closed, controlled environment like this place. Somewhere where there are witnesses and police and stuff like that.”

“So this place specifically exists _just_ so that you fucks can kill people?” She groaned and went back to rubbing her temples. “Jesus Christ, this is _not_ helping my headache. Want some fucking pain meds.”

“Oh, so that’s where Lawrence went to,” Cody said to himself. Then he added: “You’re right. Wallace set up this place just for us. Whenever a new person shows up… Well, we all have a little competition.”

“Fuck, I’m in a serial killer resort.”

He muffled a laugh behind his hand.

“Fuck. Motherfuck.”

“Yeah.”

“How does one even _start_ something like this? Shit, how fucked up are all of you?”

“Very.”

She didn’t muffle her laugh, but it was a touch more hysteric than his. “Well, thank you for being honest.”

“No problem.” He nervously looked behind him, at the door.

“…He’s going to come back, isn’t he.”

“I’m actually surprised he’s taking this long. I don’t have much time.”

“Will he kill you, if he finds you here?”

“Don’t think so. Can’t say for sure, but we don’t tend to kill each other. Which is why everyone’s going to suspect you when they find Martin and JJ.”

“Hm.”

“Look,” he quickly and quietly said. “Lawrence likes to play, okay? He’ll kill you, but he wants to have his fun first. You have time, if you hang out around him. It’s safe to eat and drink whatever he gives you. But if you get out, he’ll get _upset_.”

“And, what, kill me?”

“Yeah, but he’ll do it fast if he’s upset.”

“I’d rather he do it fast, if he’s going to do it at all.”

“Fair enough. But the longer he keeps you alive, the longer you have to figure out a way to get out.”

“Why don’t I just follow you out of here?”

“Because I’m not planning on getting on Lawrence’s bad side. The guy’s crazy.”

“Right. He’s crazy. And how can I trust you? You said it yourself: you want to kill me too.”

“Exactly!” he said, flashing her two thumbs up.

“Ex-Excuse me?”

“_I_ want to kill you. Do you think I’d tell you to hang out here if it’ll lead to Lawrence killing you instead? That would just be a stupid move.”

“Well, can’t fault _that_ logic.”

“Glad that you agree.”

“Do you know the front door combination, by the way?”

“Nope. We’re actually as trapped in here as you are, until Wallace unlocks the door.”

“Great.”

“I’ve gotta run. Just remember: if you want to survive for long enough to get away from Lawrence, you have to play along. He likes that type of stuff. The people who fight him tend to die a whole lot faster.”

“I’ll try to last long enough so you can kill me instead.”

“Awesome.” He stepped into the hallway, after checking that it was safe to do so.

“Cody…?”

“What?”

“Thanks,” she said, gifting him a bright smile.

He gaped at her, flustered, but then returned the smile. “Cheers,” he said, and then shut the door. It didn’t lock; how could it, when he didn’t have the key? She hoped that Lawrence wouldn’t notice that when he came back.

She sat back on the bed, head still spinning. If Cody was right… Well, she just had to wait and see how Lawrence reacted when he came back.

*

Cody silently walked through the hallway and quickly ducked into the stairwell. He pressed into the wall and stayed quiet; this spot was barely visible from the hall, but he’d be very easily spotted if anyone decided to take the stairs. He doubted that Lawrence would bother heading upstairs though. Not when he had the target in his bedroom.

The guy was getting sloppy. He shouldn’t have left the target alone and free to walk around. No matter how much people complained to Wallace, none of the doors could be locked to prevent anyone from getting out of a room once they were in there.

‘Fire code,’ Wallace had said.

‘We’re killing people here,’ Cody had wanted to reply. But he hadn’t. It hadn’t been worth arguing with the organizer. His house, his rules. If Cody had really cared, he could have found another place.

He heard footsteps coming from the kitchen. They weren’t hurried; Lawrence was taking his time with this target. He must have known that she’d already run into other people. Everyone knew (and disliked) that Martin acted too quickly. But did Lawrence know that Martin and JJ were dead?

He could see how someone would have missed Martin’s death: his room was right next to the spot where Martin had fallen, so he’d heard the struggle and the crash. He’d also heard the target go downstairs and then sprint back to the ‘safety’ of her room. Only then had he gone out to see what had happened.

He hadn’t bothered going down to check on Martin; he knew a corpse when he saw one. So he’d gone back into his room and tried to read. If he had the urge to join tonight’s game, he would be able to hear if she left her room. One of the benefits of being so close to the target’s bedroom.

He’d never heard her leave. But he had heard a lot of thumping from JJ’s room, which was right next to his. And then arguing, although the walls were too thick to make out words. And then screaming. So much screaming.

_(“oh God it hurts so much it hurts oh God please stop please don’t ow ow ow stop stop stop it stop it stop it”)_

He’d figured that JJ had been having fun. And so, a bit irritated that she was being so _noisy_, he’d tried to continue reading. No point in trying to sleep with all of that screaming.

The screaming stopped, eventually. And that was when he’d gotten confused. He hadn’t heard any excited giggling or cheering. JJ hadn’t knocked on his door, loudly bragging about how she’d won again. She hadn’t skipped down the hall, singing her made-up song about how great she was.

There hadn’t been any noise, after the screaming.

JJ’s door had been locked and no one had answered when he’d knocked. But locked doors weren’t a real problem for him anymore; after his first few games, when he’d had issues with targets hiding themselves away, he’d taught himself how to pick locks. Gave him a huge advantage. And Wallace had at least agreed to not put security chains on the doors, so Cody didn’t have to worry about that.

It hadn’t taken him long to break into JJ’s room.

He shuddered as Lawrence walked past the stairwell. Partly out of concern that the other man was going to see him – they weren’t supposed to attack each other, but Lawrence tended to forget that once he had a target in his grasp – and partly because of the memory of what had been waiting for him in JJ’s room.

He’d been expecting a dead target. Maybe she’d fought back enough that JJ was showering or pouting over injuries. Or JJ was too badly hurt to get out of her room or ask for help. He had _not_ been expecting an entirely different corpse.

Three hits: one on the arm (not as deep as the others), one on the chest, and the last (the killing one, he assumed) across the face. That last hit had buried JJ’s mask into her skin, fibers sticking in the blood and loose skin. It would be a pain to pull out the mask to make her face presentable. Maybe even impossible. She’d mentioned her loving dad a lot; it wasn’t going to take too long for him to start looking for her. Cody wondered how Wallace was going to make this seem like an accident.

It had been an awful lot of screaming for three hits. He’d guessed torture of some sort; that’s why he had assumed that it had been the target screaming. Apparently JJ could dish out pain, but couldn’t handle it at all.

He’d left JJ’s room and went searching for the target. He’d found her, but had unfortunately found Lawrence at the same time. The target had been unconscious – thanks to Lawrence and his thing that he insisted wasn’t chloroform, but wouldn’t say what it was – and Cody had been relieved. Lawrence didn’t kill quickly, which meant that Cody had some time to figure out what to do with the target. He wanted to talk to her. See how she was feeling about killing two people and being in a ‘serial killer resort’ (not inaccurate, although a bit too casual). He wondered which one was terrifying her more.

But once he’d met up with her… Had that talk he wanted…

He needed to talk with Wallace. They had to do something.

Wallace’s room – his office, as the man called it – was the one closest to the kitchen. He’d be in there, watching everything unfold on his cameras. He’d already know everything that had happened, of course. He wasn’t going to take action, because that wasn’t his job. But maybe, if Cody told him about the way that the target had smiled at him… How she’d thanked him for his advice instead of panicking…

His hand brushed against the door, then clenched into a fist. No. No, he couldn’t tell Wallace.

As long as he got his money and his fun, and as long as the target didn’t escape, Wallace didn’t care what they did. If one of them died… Well, that was the risk they took. A basic background check and a look through a phone couldn’t reveal how a target would react when their life was threatened. Cody knew that there was a chance that a target would kill him, if they got lucky. Everyone should know that.

There was no way that Wallace would call this off. Not even if two of them were dead. There _was_ no way to call it off. Besides, he would probably say that Lawrence had it all handled and Cody was just jealous that he wasn’t the one who got to kill the target.

Cody wasn’t jealous. But he was intrigued. And so he didn’t knock on Wallace’s door. Instead, he went back upstairs and hoped that Lawrence wouldn’t kill Jenny. If nothing else, he wanted to see what the woman would do next.

*

_Well, _Jenny thought, staring at the ceiling so that she didn’t have to look at the wall of horrible things. _He seems… nice_.

_He wants to kill you. He said so. Very bluntly. The only reason he wants you to survive is so that he can kill you himself. And you don’t even know if he’s right about Lawrence. For all you know, Lawrence is going to stab you as soon as he comes back._

Still. He’d been rather nice while he’d been saying all of that. Definitely nicer than anyone else she’d ran into recently.

She wished that he’d stayed longer. He could have, since Lawrence didn’t come back for another few minutes, holding a bottle of pain medication. He got too close to her when he handed it over, purposely making their fingers brush. His hand followed hers as she brought the bottle to her lap, only letting go when Jenny popped open the lid.

“Thank you,” she said, in her meekest voice.

He smiled. “You’re welcome, darling.”

_It’s safe to eat and drink what he gives you_, Cody had said. Did that apply to pain meds as well? She examined the bottle: the safety seal was broken, but the pills didn’t look like anyone had tampered with them. He hadn’t given her water though; she’d swallowed these things dry before, but really preferred if she didn’t have to.

“It’s terrible that you have such a headache,” he sighed.

She had one because he’d made her inhale God knows what. Or maybe because Martin had hit her head. Either way, she only had a headache because everyone in this place was dangerous and vicious.

“But if you think that you can do without the medication,” he continued, “I would really like that.”

_Play along_, Cody had also said.

“Why?” she asked.

“I have some wine I was looking forward to sharing with you. But alcohol and those pills don’t mix. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“That’s… very sweet of you,” she said.

She needed wine as much as she needed another hit to the head, honestly. Getting even slightly tipsy around this guy was a stupid idea. But pissing him off was probably a stupider idea. Having a glass of wine was much less dangerous than getting stabbed. Or however it was that he killed people. If she could avoid it though…

“I’m not much of a drinker. So I –”

“Not even for special occasions?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” she said. “And I haven’t acquired it yet.”

Now, if he had _beer_… No, she still wouldn’t want to drink it. But a beer did sound good.

“But it is such a special occasion.” He reached down and pressed on her hand, keeping the lid on the bottle. “So I’d like it if you wouldn’t take these.”

Then why had he fucking gone off and gotten them for her? Was this some type of test? Or did he get some sick pleasure in dangling stuff in front of his victims and then taking it away? She forced a smile – it probably wasn’t very convincing – and clicked the lid back into place.

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll take them later.”

He put the bottle in his pocket and Jenny pushed down the urge to punch him in the face. Instead, she took his offered hand and let him lead her to the desk, which had a tablecloth and two place settings. No knives, she noticed. Maybe all the fucking knives in the room were on the wall, with the rest of the bad things.

“Take a seat,” he said.

She was okay following that order; standing up hurt. Sitting down gave her head a chance to stop spinning quite so badly. But then he picked up a bottle of wine and she did _not_ want to add alcohol to this horrible situation.

“Wait,” she said.

He stared at her, smile falling slightly.

She tried to smile brightly enough to make up for his own fading. “I haven’t eaten anything in a while. And you know that you shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.” She tried to aim for a carefree laugh and had to settle on ‘only slightly panicked’. “Maybe we could start with something light to eat? If you have anything? I’m not sure what’s in the kitchen.”

His smile was back.

“Or just a glass of water. Since I’m not taking the pills. It may help me a bit so that I can enjoy the wine.”

He took the chair next to her and reached out. She couldn’t hold back a flinch, which made him frown again and tightly grab both of her arms.

“Don’t move away from me,” he said, squeezing her arms. “Don’t hide from me.”

“Okay,” she said, steeling her body to stay still. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

He leaned in. She realized what he was going to do an instant before his lips hit hers.

_Play along, play along… Oh fuck, I can’t do this. Give me my fucking axe again._

His tongue traced her lower lip and she let her mouth fall open. Let his disgusting tongue go into her mouth. She could bite down. She could bite his tongue in half. People could bleed out from that. Did she have enough jaw strength to do that?

The idea of swallowing mouthfuls of his blood made her sick. So she held back until he retreated, breathing a contented sigh directly onto her face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

There was no right answer to that. Anything she said would either piss him off or encourage him. So she decided to completely change the subject.

“What’s with all of the things on that wall?” she asked, jerking her head towards the torture wall. “It’s a really interesting choice of decor.”

His smile turned downright dreamy, his mind obviously somewhere else. “You don’t have to worry about that, darling. It’s nothing to worry about.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time. Passionately. She tried to participate, but her mind was somewhere else too. Her intuition and Cody had both been right: she was going to get raped. Maybe not violently, as long as she played along, but he was going to rape her. And then he was going to do something to her with all of the shit he kept on that wall. It was going to hurt. It was going to be slow.

Cody had said to play along. Well, she’d played along for long enough.

She whipped her head back and forward, slamming their foreheads together. Her head ached, but that wasn’t new. It was brand new pain to Lawrence though, who screamed and jerked backwards. She kicked the bottom of his chair with both legs, nearly tipping her own chair over but thankfully only knocking his down.

It wasn’t the best position for her – head pounding, legs tangled in the dress, body tilted at an awkward angle after the kick – but she was still better off than he was. That meant that she could get to her feet and into the hall much faster than he could. She closed the door, which slightly muffled all of the horrible things that he was calling her.

She was on the ground floor, in the room furthest from the stairs. If she had the layout of the building right, she must have been under her own room the entire time. Shit, she could have just punched a hole in the ceiling. Used one of Lawrence’s torture weapons. Would have saved her some time.

Now where? Back to her room? Back to her vague plan of breaking in the windows and running to her car? That had seemed like a great idea, back when she’d thought that her only problem was Martin and JJ. Before she’d talked to Cody.

_Everyone wants you dead._

Cody. That was a new option. Her first impression of him – surly, creepy, rude – had been pushed aside by the rather helpful man she’d had a lovely chat with. Well, lovely if you ignored the topic. And the part where he’d admitted that he wanted to kill her too. Other than that, it had been the best conversation she’d had tonight.

She could meet up with him. She knew where his room was. She knew that he wanted to kill her. In a way, that made him the safest person in the building: she knew what he wanted and he knew that she knew. They’d both be cautious around each other. Maybe they could just hang out until she came up with a way to escape.

Or maybe he’d kill her the minute she knocked on his door. Shit, breaking the window was probably her best bet. And then walking to town, because she had no idea where her purse – and therefore her car keys – were. Most likely they were with the rest of her clothes. And only Lawrence knew where that was. This nightgown was so flimsy and silky that it wouldn’t be useful at all in the storm. And the pockets were empty; if only he’d put her phone and keys in them.

Not her bedroom, she decided. That was the obvious place for her to go. That was the first place Lawrence would look. It was also one of the best places to hide, unless she went in JJ’s room… Shit, the key was in her purse. The keys to both rooms were in her purse, although she didn’t think that she had locked her own room. Shit, shit, what to do…

“Jenny? Jenny, is that you?” 

She twitched, but that hadn’t been Lawrence’s voice. Female. And there was only one other woman in the place, now that JJ wasn’t a problem.

The door second from the kitchen opened and Penelope stood in the entrance, wearing a plush housecoat and soft slippers. She gasped when she got a good look at Jenny. “Oh, Jenny dear, what’s happened? You look terrified!”

“I’m…”

“Is everything alright?” She shuffled out of her room. “What are you doing awake at this hour? Did something happen? Are you ill?”

“No!” Jenny said, frantically waving Penelope back into her room. “No, don’t go outside! It’s… Oh God, I’m so glad you’re awake!”

“Jenny, are you hurt?”

“It’s Lawrence,” she said, eyes watering. “Lawrence, he grabbed me and… And I don’t know what he did to me, but I fell asleep and then… Fuck! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to swear, but… He was going to…” She sobbed. “Shit, he was going to…”

“Shhh, come into my room. You can tell me what happened in there, alright? Once you calm down a bit. I’ll make you some tea.”

*

Penelope’s room was the same layout as the others. But, like Lawrence, she’d decorated a bit. Unlike Lawrence, she hadn’t chosen ‘horrible torture’ as the décor theme. Things were subtle: a braided pink rug, a cabinet with glass doors filled with teacups and tiny bottles, and a round table in the corner with two plush chairs by it.

“Sit down,” Penelope said, heading to the bathroom. “I’ll get some water boiling. Is peppermint tea alright? I do have some black tea, but it’s so late. I have some fruit teas as well, if you’d prefer that?”

“Black is fine,” Jenny murmured, going over to check out the cabinet.

“Oh, please sit down! You’re shaking. I’m nervous that you’re going to faint!”

“You have a lot of teacups,” she said, opening the cabinet and gently picking up one with lilies wrapped around it. “They’re all really pretty.”

“Yes, I collect them… Would you sit down while I get the tea ready?” She disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the sink.

Jenny picked up one of the small bottles and rolled it between her fingers, the handwritten label (such messy handwriting) rubbing off slightly as she did. God, her head still hurt. She really, _really _wished that she hadn’t been so careless in the kitchen; Lawrence’s stuff was refusing to fade away. Maybe Penelope had some pain medication.

She examined a few more bottles. None of them looked like pills for headaches. Mostly liquids and powders. Decoration, maybe; it seemed like Penelope’s taste was ‘tea party’ mixed with ‘old fashioned apothecary’.

_Why does she have so much of her own stuff in a bed-and-breakfast? JJ’s room was personalized. So was Lawrence’s. No one decorates a hotel room. People don’t bring this much stuff for a temporary stay._

Penelope headed out of the bathroom, holding a white teapot with blue swirls decorating it. She placed it down on the table and then went to Jenny. With a soft ‘excuse me’, she brushed past her and took two teacups that matched the pot. Then back to the table, where she took a seat.

“Will you join me while the tea brews?”

Jenny stepped away from the cabinet and sat in the empty chair, hands buried in her pockets. 

“What happened?” Penelope asked. “You looked so scared in the hallway.”

“Lawrence… His room is the one down the hall, right?”

“Yes. Henry’s between us. What about him?”

“Did you know that Lawrence is…” She hesitated and finally settled on: “Off?”

“I know that he isn’t the most sociable fellow. But he’s always seemed alright.”

“Have you ever been in his room?”

“No. I can’t say that I have. We’re not particularly close.”

“His room’s a fucking torture chamber!” she snapped. “He’s got all types of weird shit in there and he kidnapped me!” She sobbed. “Fuck, he grabbed me and took me there and I don’t know what he was going to do to me. He was saying all kinds of fucked up things. Oh shit, I was so scared…”

“Shhh,” Penelope said, gently patting her hand. “It’s alright. Here.” She poured her a cup of tea. “This will help. Milk? Sugar?”

“No.” She took the cup and cradled it in her lap. “You won’t let Lawrence in here, right?”

“Of course not.”

Jenny brought the cup to her mouth for a moment and then put it back in her lap. “Lawrence was saying such weird things,” she said. “Kept saying how pretty I was. How I belonged to him.” She snorted. “Just met the guy, like, four hours ago. Such weird stuff.” She brought the cup back up.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Penelope said. “But it doesn’t sound very good… I can wake up Wallace, if you’d like. He should know what’s going on.”

“Cody told me something pretty weird too, actually.”

“Cody?” she repeated, baffled. “Did Cody speak to you?”

“Yeah, he did.” She put her empty cup down and stared into the dredges of tea leaves left over. “He told me that everyone in this building wants to kill me,” she quietly said in a very even tone. “And, as far as I can tell, he was telling the truth. Because first it was Martin. And then JJ. And then Lawrence. Cody didn’t try anything, but he did say that he wanted to.”

“That’s horrible,” Penelope whispered.

“Yeah. But it makes me wonder if he was _really _telling the truth. Because, I mean, _you_’re someone in this building.” She looked up. “But you’re not going to kill me, right? How could you, anyway? You’re so frail. I could break you, so easily.”

“Oh, Jenny… Don’t say things like that. Are you sure that’s what Cody said? Are you sure that anyone actually attacked you? I’m sure that this is some misunderstanding. No one here would want to hurt you. I know these people.”

“Mm-hm. You do know them. And I don’t. So: are they killers?”

“Jenny…”

“Are you?”

“Jenny!”

“You’re just a nice old lady. A nice, tiny, weak old lady. I don’t think that you could hurt me. You probably couldn’t hurt most people. It’d be easy to fight back.”

“Jenny, I really don’t know what –”

“If I were you,” she continued, “and I wanted to kill someone… Well, I wouldn’t do it by force. I’d play to my strengths: play up the fragile old lady routine. And then find a very quiet, secret way of killing them.” She brushed the cup’s delicate handle with her fingers. “Like, oh, I don’t know. Poison in the tea I offered them?”

Penelope’s grip on her own cup tightened.

“Not sure what _kind_ of poison though. I know some basic info on cleaning supplies, but I’m sure that there are fancier poisons out there. Guess the pain level and the amount of time it takes to kill depends on the poison. But, either way, the person would be dead. If they drank it.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s a good thing that I dumped it on the floor then, isn’t it?”

“I have _no_ idea what you’re suggesting,” Penelope said through a forced smile, “but I would _never_ do something like –”

“Penelope!” The door swung open and a man Jenny hadn’t seen since the introductions in the lounge (that felt like forever ago). It was Henry, who she thought must have been having a much better night than anyone else in this place. Not dead or drugged or witness to murder. Still, he looked a little bit harried.

His eyes widened by a fraction when he saw Jenny sitting there. His gaze darted to the tea cup before he focused on Penelope. Jenny bit down a smirk when she noticed that he relaxed slightly after seeing that the cup was empty.

“Henry?” Penelope whispered. “What are –”

“Martin’s dead,” he said. “It looks like he fell off of the balcony. Always did tell Wallace that someone was going to break their neck around that thing one of these days.”

Penelope clasped a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. The news distracted her from the talk about poison enough for Jenny to change the topic.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “We have to call a hospital! My phone stopped working, but I bet that Wallace has something. Maybe his desk phone works. I’ll go check and call for some help.”

She got up; it was time to leave. She could fight off Penelope, if the woman tried to attack her, but Henry was much bigger. And she still had no idea where Lawrence had gone; if he showed up too, there was no way that she could defend herself from everyone. And, even though Cody had been helpful earlier, she wondered if he would show up too if he heard a commotion. She couldn’t begin to guess whose side _he_ would be on.

She didn’t even get a step away from the table. Henry stepped over and tightly grabbed her upper arm. She could have thrown him off, or at least tried to, but she froze. If she started fighting, he might fight back harder. ‘Everyone wants you dead,’ Cody had said. She had no issue believing that that included Henry.

“Let go of me,” she quietly said.

“You didn’t hear anything?” he asked, grip tightening on her arm until she winced. “He fell awfully close to your room.”

“I’ve been a bit busy tonight.”

“Busy with Lawrence?”

“Excuse me?”

“That dress. Doesn’t seem like your style.” His grip tightened so much, pulling down until her shoulder ached and her knees nearly buckled under her. She grabbed onto the table to stay upright, rattling the teapot and cups. “I know where you got it. How did you get away from Lawrence?”

Penelope discarded the whole situation with Martin, suddenly absorbed in the much more immediate problem. “Kill her, Henry!” she snapped. “Kill her, kill her, she already knows!”

Henry didn’t bother asking ‘knows what’. He just pulled a knife out (Jenny caught a glimpse of a holster underneath his shirt) and raised it, ready to stab into her.

She grabbed the nearest weapon. With a wild swing, she slammed the teapot against his face. Shards of porcelain, steaming tea, and flecks of blood went flying. He released her, shouting in shock and then in pain as the latter settled in. His hands flew to his face, which gave Jenny the opportunity to get away.

Fuck, Lawrence was _definitely_ going to hear all of that screaming.

*

Penelope had never been much of a runner, even in her youth. These days, at her age, she certainly wouldn’t be able to catch up with their latest target. That girl could _run_. Instead, she whipped the tablecloth off the table (her poor cups hit the floor; but the matching teapot was already destroyed) and knelt next to Henry. He was swearing and frantically rubbing his face.

That girl was fast. So fast that Penelope hadn’t even seen her grab the teapot. And that girl was vicious. Penelope hadn’t sensed any hesitation from her before she’d hit poor Henry right in the face.

“Oh, Henry,” she murmured, pressing the tablecloth against his face, trying to mop up the hot liquid. It wasn’t helping though: his skin was bright red, even when the blood was washed away. “Do you think that she killed Martin?”

“I don’t think that she’s too upset that he’s dead,” he hissed between teeth gritted with pain.

“She said that JJ and Lawrence tried to kill her as well. Oh _no_, Henry. Do you think that JJ is alright? I thought that I heard someone screaming, but I thought that it was _her_.”

“I did too. Thought that Martin was having too much fun.”

“I heard Martin trying to get into her room,” she faintly said. “I thought that he’d make a move as soon as Wallace gave the okay. The man has no sense of anticipation or patience.”

“Had.”

“Oh. Henry… She knew what I was planning to do. Do you think that she was going to hurt me?”

“I don’t know.” He stood and headed for the bathroom, after locking the main door. “You stay in here. I’ll go check on the others when I’m done here. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

“Of course not.” She stayed on the floor, surrounded by the remnants of her tea set, and listened as Henry rinsed his face.

*

Jenny sprinted into the lounge, going too fast to properly stop before she hit the back door. It took her a few tries to open it, with her hand so slippery with sweat. Once she managed, she didn’t go outside. There was the wall out there, too tall to climb and topped with barbed wire. There were all the murderers she had to evade, if she decided to climb the wall.

She wanted to scream with frustration. With fear. Anger. A good scream would make her feel a bit better.

_Jenny. Don’t scream. If you scream, they’ll know where you are. You have officially pissed off three people who wanted you dead before you pissed them off. Now they’re exceptionally pissed off. Oh fuck, stop saying ‘pissed off’._

There was someone behind her.

She kicked out: once and hard. Then she realized who she was kicking: Cody. Cody, who was the only person in this place who hadn’t tried to murder her tonight. Cody, who had somewhat helped her earlier. She stepped backwards and shrugged in apology.

“Ow,” Cody pointedly said, glaring at her as he rubbed his shin. “Was that really necessary?”

“I have been attacked so many times tonight,” she said, too calmly. “Do you know how many times I have been attacked tonight?”

“So many?”

“So many. So you can’t really blame me for kicking people who sneak up on me! And you can’t complain too much, because I could have fucking stabbed you instead! Do you know how many times people have tried to stab me tonight?”

“So many?”

“Too many! It’s been a very stabby night!” She laughed. “Shit, _I_’ve been stabbing people, I guess!”

“JJ,” he said. “You stabbed JJ.”

“Is it only called stabbing if it’s with a knife? Well then, I guess that I didn’t really _stab_ anyone, so much as –”

“Why didn’t you run as soon as you got away from Lawrence?”

“I tried, but Penelope invited me into her room.”

He winced. “Not a good idea.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Penelope poisons people,” she said.

“Loving the alliteration.”

“What?”

“…Never mind. Did she try to poison you?”

“Probably. She seemed pretty annoyed when I didn’t drink her tea. And then Henry showed up and –”

“Henry was there?”

“Mm-hm. He wanted to tell Penelope that Martin was dead. Said that he fell.”

“Wonder if he still thinks that.”

“Don’t think so. Especially since I hit him in the face.”

Cody took a very deep breath and slowly exhaled before asking: “You hit Henry in the face?”

“Mm-hm. With Penelope’s teapot.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s still alive. And what else was I supposed to do? He was trying to stab me!”

“I really don’t care that you hit him.”

“He had a knife! Stabby night, remember? Do _you_ have a knife too?”

“Yes.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Of course you do. How many people have you stabbed?”

“It’s not my preferred technique.”

“Don’t think that I didn’t notice that you’re not saying ‘zero’.”

He grimaced. “It’s a number higher than zero.”

“Hey, that’s my number too.” She rubbed her temples and sighed. “Fuck. Does the garden have a gate?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, Wallace –” His eyes went wide. “_Oh_.”

“Eh?” She looked behind her and cringed. “_Fuck_.”

Lawrence stood in the room’s entrance, long knife in one hand and a very sad look on his face.

“Hi, Lawrence,” Cody said. “How’s it going?”

“What are you doing?” he said, stepping forward. “What are you doing with her?”

“Just talking.”

He turned to Jenny, not even acknowledging Cody’s answer. “Why did you run?” he asked, lower lip quivering. “Why did you hurt me?”

Jenny frantically looked at Cody, who helplessly shrugged.

“I was… nervous?” she finally said.

“Come with me.”

She hesitated.

“Come with me!” This time, he held up the knife.

“Okay,” she whispered, trailing after him as he left.

Cody followed. No one objected. Jenny gave him a timid smile. Lawrence didn’t appear to see him at all.

They all went back to his room; he closed and locked the door, then resumed his questioning.

“Why did you leave?”

Jenny stammered something.

“Is it because of _him_?” he hissed, pointing at Cody.

Both Jenny and Cody stared at the finger, stared at one another, and then stared at Lawrence.

“What?” Jenny finally said.

“Did he _say_ something to you? Was he trying to seduce you away from me?”

“…What?” she repeated.

“**_WAS HE?!_**”

Jenny yelped as Lawrence dove to Cody and wrapped his fingers around the other man’s shirt. Cody raised his hands to fight back, but froze when the knife went against his throat.

“Lawrence, wait!” She clung to his arm and tried to pull him away from Cody, without much luck. “Lawrence, _please_ don’t do this.”

“You want to protect a murderer?” he snapped. “Do you know what this man has done?”

“No! No, I don’t know anything! B-But I don’t want to watch anyone die!”

“Anyone else,” Cody muttered, choosing to shut up when Lawrence roughly shook him.

“So please,” she said, digging her fingers into his arm. “Please let him go. I don’t want to see this. Can you please do that for me?”

“You’d protect a murderer,” Lawrence repeated, eyes narrowed. “One who was going to kill you. Brutally desecrate your precious body.”

“I don’t want to see you kill him,” she whispered. “Please don’t let me see that. Please let him go. For me. Please do it for me.”

Without taking his eyes from her, he released his grip on Cody’s shirt.

“Thank your rescuer,” Lawrence said.

“What?”

“Thank her!”

“Cheers, Jenny,” Cody mumbled, shifting away from both of them towards the door. His hand rested next to the knob, entire body tense, but he didn’t leave the room.

Lawrence scowled at him, but apparently the thanks was enough for him because he focused on Jenny. “You’re so kind,” he quietly said. “You have to learn what to do with that kindness, but I admire that quality nonetheless. You just have to learn to direct it to me. Only to me. That would be the best.”

“Whatever you want,” she said, backing away. She squeaked when he grabbed her arm and stopped moving. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just getting something. Something to celebrate. I promise that I won’t leave you.”

“You promise.”

“Yes,” she said, placing her hand on top of his and squeezing. “Yes, I promise. I’m not leaving the room. I’m not leaving you. You need to let me go.”

He released her and she went to the cupboard, pulling out three wine glasses. She turned around, put them on the nightstand, and then stood there, hands fidgeting nervously at her chest, out of sight of both men. She brought one up to her mouth and began chewing on a nail.

“Don’t do that,” Lawrence said. “There’s no need to be so timid. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Right.” That was so quiet, she may as well have said nothing at all. “Nothing’s wrong.” She went back to the cupboard. “I’m sorry that we didn’t have the chance to drink this earlier,” she said, holding up a bottle of wine. “You had such romantic dinner plans and they were almost ruined. But I guess that we can at least have a toast?”

“A toast to what?”

“To you not killing anyone?”

Cody forced down a snort of laughter. Lawrence’s eyes narrowed.

“I-I mean –” she fumbled with the twist-top and finally got it open on the third try “– you don’t have to kill _anyone_ tonight. Okay? I’ll stay here with you and you won’t have to kill Cody or…” She let out a hysteric giggle and slammed the bottle down onto the table, hard enough to slosh some wine out. It trickled down the side of the bottle until she mopped it up with the sleeve of the nightgown, staining the white burgundy. “Or me! You _definitely_ don’t have to kill me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Lawrence said, amused. “Whatever you say, darling.”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, straightening the glasses and pouring wine into all of them. “Oh fuck, I’ll drink to that.”

“Don’t swear, beautiful. It’s so vulgar in such a sweet mouth.”

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m so sorry. No more swearing. I promise.” She thrust one glass at Cody – who grabbed it by instinct and almost protested, before shutting his mouth – and then stumbled over to Lawrence with the other two glasses. She held one up to him and smiled. “I promise that I won’t swear to you anymore. Just… Please.”

He took the glass and smiled, gently stroking her face. “Of course, my dove. As long as you’re mine, as long as you do whatever I say, everything will work out for you.”

“Of course. Everything will be fine.” She touched his hand with her own trembling one. “Everything’s going to work out.” She lifted her glass to her mouth.

Lawrence downed half of his wine at once and went back to smiling at Jenny, who lowered her glass. She was shaking so much that the wine was quivering back and forth.

“Hey,” Cody said. “Jenny?”

“Mm?”

“I shouldn’t drink this, should I?” he asked, putting his glass down onto the floor and deliberately stepping away from it.

She shook her head, putting her glass down as well. She roughly wiped her mouth with her sleeve, backing up towards the door.

Lawrence stared into his glass, with half of the wine gone down his throat, and nervously licked his lips. “What did you do?” he whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he screamed, throwing the glass to the floor, drawing flinches from both Jenny and Cody. It would have been more dramatic if it had shattered, but instead it bounced against the carpet and laid there, unbroken, leftover wine trickling out.

“I’m not lying,” she said, gaze fixed on his feet. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just took a bunch of stuff from Penelope’s room. Not too sure what I grabbed or what they’ll do.” She sighed. “I don’t think it’s anything good though.”

“Penelope?” he whispered, horror flickering across his face.

“She wasn’t watching me when she made the tea. Wasn’t too hard to slip some stuff into my pocket.” She twisted her skirt in a fist and grimly smiled. “Thanks for giving me a dress with pockets, by the way.”

“You… Penelope?”

“Do you know what Penelope does?” She took another step backwards. “How _she_ kills people?”

The deepening horror on his face said that he knew all too well what Penelope did.

“I don’t know the details,” she said, “but –”

He knocked her to the ground and kneeled over her.

“You demon!” he shrieked, banging her head against the floor and pressing his hands around her throat. “You monster! You demonic spawn of –”

Whatever she was the spawn of remained unknown, because the rest of his rant ended with a loud ‘oof’ as she slammed her knee into his stomach. He recoiled, enough for her to squirm out from under him. He tried to grab her ankle, but she kicked him in the nose and pulled herself up. Stumbling slightly, she made her way to the bed and leaned against it, pressing her hand against the back of her head. Her eyes flickered between Lawrence (who was wheezing, from more than just having the wind knocked out of him) and Cody (who was watching the whole thing, eyebrows raised).

“You,” Lawrence said, between gasping breaths. “You.”

“Excuse me,” she said, running for the door. She shouldered past Cody, who had already been moving aside as soon as he’d realized where she was heading, and sprinted away.

“I’ll go get Penelope,” said Cody, who had absolutely no intention of doing so. If he’d thought that Penelope _could_ help Lawrence, then he might have actually gone to find her. But the old woman wasn’t the type to keep antidotes.

Lawrence knew that too, but it didn’t look like Lawrence was in the proper frame of mind to think of that. Or of anything, really. His breaths were becoming more and more laboured, with flecks of red spittle coming out with every exhale. The red could have been from the wine. Cody somewhat doubted it though.

He left the room, closed the door, and examined the hall. Jenny was out of sight, because she wasn’t an idiot. Cody, however, _was_ apparently an idiot, because his first thought was that he had to find her. Not report Lawrence’s upcoming death to anyone or tell Penelope that she should have locked up her poisons. No, he just wanted to figure out where Jenny had gone.

It turned out that she wasn’t too hard to find: she was in the kitchen, shifting the chairs aside as she looked for something. As soon as Cody entered, she quickly spun around and only slightly relaxed when she saw who it was.

“Going to kill me?” she asked, grip tightening on the chair she was holding. Cody wondered if she was planning on throwing it at him, if he made any sudden moves.

“Undecided.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Earlier tonight, you were all ‘I want to kill you’. Now you’re undecided. I’d call that an improvement.” She winced and rubbed the back of her head, with a comical grimace.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Am I _okay_?” she repeated.

“Yes, that is what I asked you.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’m fine. Bit woozy, because he hit my fucking head, but otherwise I’m having a _great_ night. Splendid night. I’m the finest person in the fucking place.”

“Good to know.”

She huffed and turned back to her search. “How’s Lawrence doing?” she asked.

“I didn’t stick around. He’s probably not doing too well. What are you looking for?”

“Something I dropped when Lawrence grabbed me. I hope he didn’t throw it out.”

“What is it?”

She didn’t answer him, instead wandering deeper into the kitchen. Cody didn’t bother following her; she was only going to the pantry, where the most dangerous thing was the collection of canned soups Wallace kept in there. Instead, he took a seat at the dining table and stared out at the garden. Not that there was much to see, what with it being pitch black and raining. What time was it anyway? A look at the clock said just past three. Not a record for longest living target – not even close – but Wallace’s place had never had three deaths in one night before.

She didn’t seem overly bothered that she’d just killed a third person, he thought.

A soft ‘ah-ha’ came from the pantry.

“You found it?” he asked, glancing over. And then he nearly choked in shock.

She was holding an axe. Her axe: the one that still had JJ’s blood on it.

“Yes, I did,” she murmured, hefting it onto her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asked, eyeing the door leading to the garden. He was pretty sure that he could get up and run out if she lunged at him.

“Right now, I’m planning to get out of this stupid dress. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

It wasn’t the smartest idea Cody had ever had, but he got up to follow her upstairs. She didn’t ask him what he was doing or show any sign of nervousness. She just went to her room.

Cody heard the door lock again; if the woman had any brains, she’d stay in there for the rest of the night. Not that it would help, knowing how dangerous Henry could get when he was focused, but at least she wouldn’t be wandering through the inn. He glanced around, wondering if he should barricade the door (for his protection or hers, he wasn’t too sure), but the hallway was as empty as it always had been. So he just went back to his room and made sure that his own door was locked as well.

*

While she’d been picking shards of her teapot out of the carpet, Penelope had heard yelling coming from down the hall. It had been rather soothing. Normally, listening to the screams of Lawrence’s most recent victim or the man’s ranting when he finally decided to kill them was… Well, it made her put her earplugs in and turn on the radio to drown out the noise. So difficult to sleep through.

But this time, she breathed a sigh of sheer relief. It sounded like Lawrence had had enough of this young lady and was slaughtering her. Which meant that she couldn’t keep fighting them. That Penelope didn’t have to worry about her anymore. The way that Jenny had looked at her, right when Penelope had thought that she’d had the tea… That hadn’t been a nice look. Penelope was glad that someone had finally gotten her. Wallace would have to choose better, next time.

That had been nearly twenty minutes ago. Lawrence hadn’t come out of his room yet, but that wasn’t surprising. Penelope didn’t know _what_ he did with the corpses, but he spent a lot of time with them after he was done with the murder. The first time that Wallace had tried to walk in before Lawrence was ready… Well, _that_ had been a lot of yelling. Angry yelling from Lawrence, disgusted from Wallace.

Someone knocked at her door. Probably Henry, wanting to tell her that there was no reason to be scared. Or possibly Cody. What had he been up to all night? Jenny had mentioned him; said that he’d told her about their little game. Penelope was gong to have to tell Wallace about that. There was no rule saying that they couldn’t inform the target, but she felt like that took all of the fun out of it.

Another knock.

“I’m coming!” she said, easing out of her chair and going to open the door.

It wasn’t Henry or Cody.

She frantically tried to close the door, but Jenny slammed it open. She was stronger than Penelope had expected; hitting Henry, potentially killing Martin, forcing her way in…

A terrified thought surfaced: _She could break me as easily as Cody could_.

Jenny looked better now than she had earlier, when she’d been sitting at Penelope’s table and Penelope had been _so sure_ that she’d had at least a mouthful of the tea. She was no longer wearing the nightgown that Lawrence dressed his victims in. Now, she had jeans and a pink T-shirt. The shirt had a picture of a cartoon cat surrounded by flowers on it.

She also had an axe. Penelope kept staring at that.

“Sit down,” she said.

“Jenny, I –”

She pointed at the chair with the axe. “Sit _down_.”

There was blood on that axe, Penelope realized with growing panic. It was smeared, like someone had tried to clean it, and it was dry. But it was definitely blood.

She sank into her chair.

Jenny nodded and brought the axe back to her side. “I want to thank you.”

“Thank me?” she repeated. “Thank me for _what_?”

“Loaning me some of your poisons.” She grinned. “I don’t think that Lawrence appreciated them, but they did work pretty well.”

Penelope buried her face into her hands and shuddered. “Is he dead?”

“As far as I know, yes. Can’t say that I checked.”

“You killed him.”

“Yes.”

“And you killed Martin.”

“Yes. Less intentionally. But yes.”

“And JJ… Oh, I haven’t heard JJ for _hours_. Where is she? Have you seen her?”

“She’s dead.”

Penelope whimpered.

“I want to survive tonight,” Jenny said. “And it doesn’t look like anyone else in here wants that. So… I’m doing what I can. At least I can claim self-defence. What about you? What’s your reason?”

“Oh God…”

“Was that an answer or a prayer?”

Penelope lifted her face, tears falling down her face. “Are you going to kill me?”

Silence.

“Henry will –”

“Kill me? He wants to do that anyway.”

“Please. I won’t try to hurt you. Earlier… That was a mistake. I’m sorry about it. I just… I find it interesting. But I don’t particularly _want_ to kill you. Not like the others. I’m so sorry. And you said it yourself: I’m an old lady. There’s no way that I _could_ hurt you, now that you know what I do. You have nothing to fear from me. So please: leave and I’ll stay in here. I can’t do anything about Henry or Cody. But I won’t do anything to you.”

Jenny brought the axe off of its perch on her shoulder and stepped forward.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Penelope gasped, half-getting out of her chair; she was shaking too much to fully get up, much less run.

She slapped the axe’s handle against one palm and grimly smiled. “I’m surviving.”

*

It took Cody five useless minutes with lockpicks, five kicks, and two bodyslams to get the door to Penelope’s room open. He knew that it was too late to do anything; the screams had stopped while he’d been struggling with the lockpicks. But he still had to get in. At least to say to Henry that he’d tried. As soon as the wood cracked enough to weaken the lock, he shoved his way in to see what awaited him in there.

The target was hunched over, facing away from him, shoulders heaving up and down as she gasped for air. At her feet was a pile of flesh and blood, partially wrapped up in a pale purple housecoat. The fluffy fabric was sinking down as it soaked up the weight of the blood. Cody knew that housecoat: he’d seen Penelope wear it so many nights before. That – and the facts that there was no one else it could be, that he’d recognized the voice that had been screaming, that he wasn’t _stupid_ – told him who was the corpse lying on the floor.

“Well,” Cody said. And then, because that didn’t seem like enough of a reaction, he added: “Well then.”

Jenny straightened, axe dangling from her hands and dripping blood. She looked over her shoulder, staring at him through glasses that were slightly less covered with blood than the axe. And, when she turned around to fully face him, he could see that the cat face on the front of her pink T-shirt was splattered with blood as well. Lots of blood. Not a clean kill. Not, as he could judge from the screaming, a fast kill.

Cody slowly stepped into the room, hands half-raised to show that they were empty, and carefully (very, _very_ carefully) walked past Jenny. He knelt down next to the mess that had been Penelope and decided against checking for a pulse. He could tell that she didn’t have one, just by looking.

“Well,” he repeated, getting up. That was all that he could think to say.

Jenny didn’t have anything to say either. She was breathing pretty heavily, likely from exertion. Cody knew that it took some effort, hacking a body to pieces.

Finally, he figured out what to say: “Henry is going to be really pissed off. He liked Penelope. He’s not going to be too pleased that you did this.”

“Probably not,” she quietly said.

“Could you have, I don’t know, _not_ done this? Or at least killed her a bit neater?”

“I probably could have.”

“You could have force-fed her some of her cookies.”

“The cookies are poisoned?”

“Pretty sure that everything’s poisoned. You really didn’t have to do…” He gestured at the bleeding corpse. “That. That was unnecessary.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Not that Cody had any idea what she could have said. It wasn’t like he’d asked her a question. And it wasn’t as if she cared. She’d gone into this room to kill Penelope, as far as Cody could tell. He couldn’t think of any other reason why she would have gone back into Penelope’s room, especially with an axe. She probably hadn’t cared _how_ Penelope died. Yeah, poisoning may have been less bloody; although, going by Lawrence, Cody wasn’t sure if it would have been less painful.

“So what now?”

No reply.

“Jenny,” he said, scowling when she didn’t react. “Jenny!”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, almost too quiet for him to hear.

He wasn’t sure if the question had been directed to him or if she had been talking to herself. Or maybe talking to the axe that she was staring at. But, regardless, he had an answer.

“Get out of here,” he said.

She looked out the window, at the rain slamming against the glass, and sighed. “It’s still storming pretty badly out there,” she said. And then she headed out of the room and towards the stairs, until he couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore.

Cody glanced at Penelope’s mangled corpse and then, with a loud sigh, fished her room key out of her bloodied housecoat and tossed a blanket over her. He forced open her cabinet, dumped each tiny bottle into the bath, and rinsed the liquids and powders and pills down the drain. That done, he turned off all of the lights and left the room, locking the door as he went.

*

_“Jelly bean?”_

_She opened her eyes, fighting the movement of the car and the wind rushing past that were lulling her into sleep. “Mm?”_

_“Are you asleep?”_

_“Not anymore.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Because you woke me up.”_

_“Sorry about that.”_

_She shrugged._

_He took one hand off of the steering wheel and placed it over both of hers, clasped in her lap. He squeezed._

_“You can go back to sleep, if you want. We don’t have to talk.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Okay,” he repeated. “That’s okay.”_

_Silence, except for the wind. She started to drift off._

_“Nice day,” he said, jerking her out of her sleep again._

_She looked out at the slightly cloudy sky and sighed. “They said that there’s supposed to be a pretty bad storm tonight.”_


	4. Part Three

Jenny washed the glass she’d pulled from the cupboard five times: three times with soap, once with plain water, and once more when the first rinse hadn’t fully gotten rid of the taste of the dish soap.

She was being paranoid, she knew. Penelope probably wouldn’t have put poison into every glass in the kitchen; hell, she wouldn’t have touched any of the glasses in there. Risk of killing someone who she wasn’t planning to was too high. Lawrence wouldn’t have brushed his drug of choice on any of them either. And Martin and JJ? What would they have done? Put a knife in a glass?

That didn’t stop her from making _completely_ sure that the glass was clean before she filled it with water. Tap water. The same logic for ‘poison in glasses’ applied to ‘poison in the drinks in the fridge’. The tap water was safe.

She downed the glass, refilled it, and sat down at the table. She took the axe with her. The bloody axe. She rested it on her lap, handle in her grip, and sipped the water.

Henry was going to kill her. It had sounded like Penelope had been going to say that, before Jenny had interrupted her. Before Jenny had…

She finished the rest of her water and went to the sink for a third glass.

Alright, so Henry was going to kill her. That wasn’t a surprise. Cody had said, after all, that everyone was after her. That possibly meant that Cody was going to kill her, but Cody had had plenty of opportunities and hadn’t done anything. He’d even been somewhat helpful. Not helpful in the sense of actually helping her to get out, mind you. Just helpful by offering advice and not trying to stab her every time she was within five feet of him.

She tapped the axe’s handle against her thigh, hunched over the sink as she drank. No matter how much water she consumed, her throat still felt dry. Was that a symptom of shock? Not that she was actually experiencing shock. The type of shock brought on by pain, that is. Maybe she had the other type. Acute stress reaction. That was the proper term.

She began reciting those symptoms, as best as she knew. She wasn’t as familiar with them as she was with actual shock symptoms. Most of the stress symptoms were stuff like numbness or avoidance or aggression.

Maybe she was aggressive. The axe suggested so.

She might have been going through actual shock too. She was pretty beat up: aching head from the drug and hitting it too many times, bleeding arm, the start of bruises all over. She’d never managed to find pain medication. She still needed to do that.

She also needed to not get killed by Henry. And escape. She needed that too. Her to-do list was getting pretty long.

“Stop panicking,” she told herself. “You need to stop panicking.”

She was in a better position than she had been less than an hour ago. She wasn’t trapped in Lawrence’s room. She had her own clothing. She had a weapon. Four people were dead.

Maybe it wasn’t shock or a headache or acute stress reaction that was bothering her. Maybe it was guilt.

She wanted… Oh God, she wanted…

_Jenny. Stop. Panicking._

She wanted out. She couldn’t get out. What was the next best thing to do?

She was still missing her first set of clothes and her purse. She could go find those. 

She also hadn’t been everywhere in the building. There were still rooms that she hadn’t explored. Maybe one of them had something useful. Probably not Martin’s room.

She hadn’t seen Wallace in hours. Where had he gone off to?

She could go find Cody and ask him. He might know where her clothes were, what were in the rooms, where Wallace was. And she knew where his room was, so it wasn’t like she’d get lost. Yeah, that was the best move.

She had another glass of water and then headed to the bedroom door that Cody had gone into so long ago, before Martin had tried to kill her and started all of this shit.

“Cody?” she called, stepping into the room.

For a moment, Jenny wondered if she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up back in her own room. This one had the same layout and the same furniture, right down to the lamp. The confusion didn’t last long through, especially when she saw that the lamp wasn’t broken. This room was much cleaner. No knocked-over dresser. Clearly, this room hadn’t seen any action tonight.

There were also quite a lot of books in this room, unlike hers. A pile on the nightstand, another on the desk, more overflowing in the tiny bookcase. One book was lying on the bed, bookmark partially falling out of it. Jenny picked it up and didn’t recognize the title (_We Have Always Lived in the Castle_), so put it back down and went to investigate the desk. Among the books was a mug half-filled with coffee (cold), a neat heap of empty peanut shells, and a notebook.

“Cody?” she repeated. No one replied.

The room may have been packed with books, but it seemed to be lacking its owner. She sat at the desk and placed the axe next to her. Maybe she should lock the door? Cody would be able to get in – it was his room, he had the keys; not that locked doors seemed to have stopped him at any other time this night – but Henry would be stuck in the hall. If Henry even thought to look for her here; did he know that Cody had left his room unlocked?

She flipped through the notebook, scanning the pages of precise handwriting. Whenever she paused to actually read something, she had no idea _what_ she was reading. An analysis of another book she’d never heard of, she guessed. She continued flipping, faster, then paused and went back a few pages.

_This_ page wasn’t in the same handwriting, although it was between two pages that looked completely normal. She could barely read this page: the writing was so cramped and frantic and scratched out. She looked at the page before it (discussing some allegory) and the page after it (continuing the allegory talk, as if this page didn’t exist at all) and squinted, trying to decipher some meaning from the mess.

All she could read with complete accuracy was _CAN’T STOP CAN’T DO IT MYSELF_.

She closed the book, carefully replaced it, and turned away from the desk.

“Well,” she whispered.

*

The lounge was safe. After his bedroom and the garden, this had always been Cody’s favourite spot to sit. It got a bit annoying when everyone else was around, but they’d learned pretty fast to never bother him when he was reading. And he was pretty good at tuning out background noise when he was absorbed in a book.

Another plus about the lounge: it didn’t look like their target had done anything in here. No blood, no broken furniture, no dead bodies. Very pleasant. And since it was still raining and dark outside, he was just going to sit in his favourite chair and relax for a bit.

Then Henry walked in and Cody sensed that his peaceful reading time was about to be ruined. Something about the man’s expression said that he wasn’t going to leave without ranting for a while.

“I just came from Penelope’s room,” he said, voice so utterly calm that Cody knew that he wasn’t handling what he’d seen very well. “The bitch killed her. Went to Lawrence’s room. He’s dead too. Just like Martin.” His voice cracked in that last sentence.

JJ wasn’t in that list, Cody noticed. Looked like Henry hadn’t gone looking in the upper floor bedrooms yet.

“Where is she?” Henry hissed.

“Dunno,” Cody said, not looking up from his book. Dickens may have rambled, but reading his novels was still more entertaining than listening to Henry.

Henry knocked the book down. Cody rolled his eyes, then leaned back and raised his eyebrows at him.

“Really,” he said. “I don’t know where she is.”

“What have you been doing all night?”

_Watching all of you fail miserably_. _Hanging out with the target._ “Nothing much. I’m just not feeling it tonight.”

It looked like Henry was tempted to hit him, harder than he’d hit the book. Only the knowledge of what Cody was capable of was holding him back.

“Where is she?”

“Are you asking me? Because I don’t know. It’s not a big place. It shouldn’t take you too long to figure it out for yourself.”

“No, it’s not a big place… I’m surprised that I haven’t run into JJ.”

“JJ’s dead,” Cody said, deciding to fill Henry in now that he’d finally brought her up. “She died before Lawrence.”

Henry punched the wall, hard enough to leave a dent. Wallace was going to be pretty annoyed about that, Cody knew. Their organizer always whined how hard it was, cleaning up after a ‘party’. So much blood and broken furniture. Not to mention getting rid of the body at the end of everything.

Wallace would have a _lot_ more cleaning up to do tonight than usual. It hadn’t been the usual ‘party’. Cody really hated that Wallace insisted on calling their sessions ‘parties’. There were a lot of ways to sugar-coat this whole thing, but ‘party’ was an outright stupid way of doing it.

Henry’s eyes were so narrow that Cody wondered if he could even see anything. “JJ’s _dead_?!”

“Yeah.”

“How? Where?”

“Go check her room.” If it was unlocked; Cody hadn’t locked it, but he wasn’t sure what their target had done since he’d broken in. “Her face got cut in half. Probably with an axe. That seems to be what Jenny’s been carrying around. Pretty sure that that’s what she used on JJ. But I could be wrong.”

He knew that he wasn’t wrong. That wound had been too deep and wide to be from a knife. The target had taken an axe to JJ’s face. Just like she’d taken it to Penelope’s entire body. There was no denying that.

“That bitch killed _four_ of us?!”

“Looks like it. Or at least three. Not too sure about Martin.” He picked up his book again, flipping it open to a random page. He’d read the whole thing multiple times already; starting to read it again was more to annoy Henry than anything else. “I did see her kill Lawrence, although I think that guy’s had it coming for years. Always been surprised that none of his other victims managed to get one over him. And I tried to save Penelope – really, I promise – but didn’t make it in time. But Jenny definitely killed her. Caught her standing over Penelope’s corpse with her axe. She wasn’t trying to hide what she’d done.”

Henry’s eyes couldn’t get any narrower.

“Almost looked like she was okay with it,” he admitted. Well, ‘okay’ was a stretch. But most people would have been freaking out after killing _one_ person. They wouldn’t go hunting down others.

“I’ll kill her,” Henry quietly said, nearly vibrating with rage. “I will kill her. I’ll make it slow and painful. She will die screaming and wishing that I would hurry and slit her throat.”

Cody turned the page. He hadn’t finished the previous page – hadn’t even been reading, really – but he needed something to do. If he didn’t keep busy, then Henry might think that he had a willing conversation partner. And if he thought that Cody was willing to talk, well… Who knew what else Henry might think Cody was willing to do?

“I’ll take her to my room,” Henry said, apparently under the impression that Cody was still participating in this conversation. “Tie her up. Make her terrified before I touch her.”

That wasn’t Henry’s usual method. Cody had always been half-sure that the man stayed here just because he got a kick out of listening to the fights throughout the night. His win record wasn’t the best – three, maybe four, ever since he’d shown up last year – and he only left his room a few hours after the game’s start. Maybe when he decided that the others were taking too long. And, when he did take action, he made it fast. Heavy object to the head, sharp object to the chest, rope around the neck. Then he left the body where it fell and went back to bed.

Tonight wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. Cody wondered if something had cracked in his mind with the break in the routine. He was definitely breathing pretty heavily and wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Where is she?”

“I told you,” Cody said. “I don’t know. I’d guess still in the building. Front door’s still locked. Maybe she scaled the back wall though. But I’d say that she’s hiding somewhere in the building.”

“She has to still be in here. Wallace makes sure that no one can leave. She’s still in here and I am going to find her.”

“Okay.” He flipped another page.

“I will kill her,” Henry said. “Don’t get in my way when you hear her screaming.”

Cody lifted up his book. “I’ll keep myself busy.”

Finally, Henry left. Cody tried to read, but he couldn’t sink into the words like he usually could. He tossed the book aside and stared out of the window for a while.

Then he sighed and got up.

*

This damn bed-and-breakfast was too small.

Initially, Jenny hadn’t thought so. An eight bedroom house was huge, after all. But, when so many of the rooms were locked, things got a bit claustrophobic. When a lot of the hiding places were obvious, things got worse. She could only spend so long in her room before Henry was going to realize that she was in there.

She figured she had another five minutes. Ten, tops. Honestly, she was surprised that he wasn’t already knocking down the door. She should be hiding somewhere else. But _where_ was the issue. This place had a lock, at least. No way out other than the one door, but it had a lock.

Was there no way out other than into the hall? She couldn’t open the window, but she could always knock it out with her axe. But that would just lead her back into the goddamn garden, which she’d already established couldn’t be escaped from. At least not without a ladder and she hadn’t seen any of _those_ around this place. If only she could climb with knives; she’d found _plenty_ of those.

So no door, no window… She went to the bathroom and stared up at the vent over the toilet, which looked to be a decent size. That had to go somewhere, right?

_CRASH_.

Shit, that was Henry. He’d either figured out where she was or had decided to break in for the hell of it. That cut her exit options down to two: window and trying the vent.

_CRASH_.

Honestly. If _one_ more fucking person tried to knock down her door, she was going to scream. She couldn’t believe that the door was still intact after all the people that had been hitting it all night.

_CRASH_.

She stood on the toilet and tried to loosen one of the vent’s screws with her nails. After she broke a nail, she went swearing to her suitcase to pull out her tiny tool kit. Emphasis on _tiny_: the screwdriver in there barely fit. She spent too much time trying to unscrew all four screws, listening to Henry hit her door all the while, before she gave up and wrapped her fingers around the gaps in the vent and tugged.

All four screws snapped off from the wall at once. She almost fell to the ground from the sudden lack of resistance, banging her leg against the toilet’s tank and only managing to stay upright by grabbing onto the sink. She examined the huge holes in the wall. Yeah, that wasn’t going to be easy to fix. She’d been hoping that the grate would come off smoothly so that she could replace it behind her. So much for that idea.

She placed the grate on the ground and stood on the toilet again to peek into the vent. It looked like she could fit. Odd how the vent was so big; maybe it had been designed so that people could crawl through them? It would give people a different way of breaking into the room. She was glad that no one had tried it to get to her.

The thudding on her door stopped. It was replaced with an odd creaking noise.

She pulled herself up into the vent, coughed at the dust, and squirmed her way through. She briefly thought about just staying in here – it was a tight squeeze for her, so Henry wouldn’t be able to get in – and dismissed the idea. There were ways to force her out. If she could think of at least three in a few seconds, she was sure that Henry would be able to as well.

The vent went to the left and then directly towards another spot of light. JJ’s room? That was the only thing that made sense. She assumed that every bathroom had this vent. Unfortunately, she couldn’t figure out how it led to the outside. Maybe that part of the vent was too small for her to fit through.

She tried to get her screwdriver through the second vent’s gaps, but ended up instead pressing her axe against the grate, applying pressure until those screws popped out as well. She managed to grab the grate before it hit the floor and slipped out.

This bathroom was full of shampoos and loofahs and lots of bottles of smelly things. Also a cup full of hair pins, which Jenny knocked over on her way down. She winced, but it didn’t make enough noise to attract attention. She went into the main room.

Shit, she’d forgotten how _messy_ JJ’s death had been. The room smelled rancid, like blood and piss and guts. The girl’s body laid where it had fallen, sprawled in a puddle of partially dried blood. Jenny gave it a very wide berth as she headed for the door.

Not locked. She’d locked the door after the incident with JJ. She was sure that she had. So then why was it unlocked now? Did somehow else have a key?

Or lockpicks, she thought. She knew someone with lockpicks.

She carefully locked the door and held her breath after the _click_. But it didn’t seem like Henry had heard that. If he hadn’t been hitting the door so damned loudly, he might have. But Jenny was safe. At least for now.

If he broke into her room though (let’s be honest: _when_ he broke into her room), it wouldn’t take him too long to figure out how she’d gotten out. She was back to her second biggest problem, right after the ‘serial killer’ thing: the bed-and-breakfast was tiny. She could hide in other bedrooms, but he could break into those too. The kitchen and lounge were too accessible. The garden had that wall.

Her mind kept going back to Cody. Would he protect her from Henry? Was her safest move finding him and begging for help?

No. He hadn’t helped her get out of the building. He’d said that he was trapped in here too, after all. And even if he did help her evade Henry…

_‘I want to kill you,’_ he had said.

She sighed.

There was a sharp _crack_ from the hallway, followed by the sound of a doorknob rattling and then a door opening. Somehow, Henry had gotten into her room. Jenny didn’t have a plan yet, unless you counted ‘running’ as a plan.

She eased open the door and peeked into the hallway: her bedroom door was open and Henry was gone. She quietly dashed down the stairs; she was halfway down before she heard a furious scream.

“Oh, you fucking cunt!”

She ran faster, into the downstairs hall. First door was locked (she hadn’t been in there yet, had she?), second was Penelope’s (locked, _why_ was it locked?), third was locked (hadn’t been in there either; Penelope had mentioned it was Henry’s room, so she didn’t want to go in there), and the fourth… Unlocked. Fuck, she was going into Lawrence’s room.

She gently closed the door and tried to hear where Henry was going. She couldn’t hear him swearing anymore, but he might have stopped doing that. She couldn’t hear footsteps either, but maybe he was walking very quietly. Or maybe he was going off in the wrong direction. She couldn’t tell. It was hard to determine how her luck had been going tonight. On one hand, she was still alive. On the other, she was still stuck in this goddamn place. And was now back in Lawrence’s bedroom.

It looked untouched from the last time she’d seen it. Lawrence’s corpse (face down in vomit and blood), the still full glasses of wine, and the wall of torture and death. Jenny grabbed one knife, just in case, but left the rest of the stuff; she didn’t know how to use a whip and most of the other weapons required too much preparation. She wasted a few minutes searching for the drug that Lawrence had used on her – maybe she’d be able to knock Henry out – but couldn’t find anything. He could have been keeping it in another room or in the padlocked closet (she couldn’t risk breaking it down; too much noise) or in one of the (many) bottles of alcohol she’d found under the bed.

There was also a small, leather-bound photobook beside the alcohol. She picked it up and flipped through it.

She immediately closed it and glared at Lawrence’s corpse.

“I’ve seen severe third-degree burns,” she told the body. “I thought that _that_ was as disgusting as it could get. But…” She threw the book onto his back. “Fuck you.”

She didn’t want to hide in here. Could she use the same vent pathway to get into the next room? If Lawrence’s room was below hers and had the same layout, she didn’t see why that wouldn’t work.

She peeked into Lawrence’s bathroom and decided that that plan wasn’t going to work. Not at all. Nope, the air vent was _not_ an option. Shit, that place was… _Ugh_.

“Fuck you,” she told the body again, as she went back into the hall.

*

In the kitchen, preparing a cup of coffee, Cody heard a lot of noise and shouting from upstairs. Then Henry had stomped off into the garden, dropping ‘fuck’s and ‘bitch’s and ‘cunt’s as he went. He’d also heard the target run across the downstairs hall, which meant that it might have been safe to head upstairs and take a look around.

_What a night_, he thought, eyeing the deep and jagged cuts across the door of the target’s designated room, along with the huge hole right next to the doorknob. _What. A. Night._ He gently pressed on the door, which easily swung open; the lock was still intact, but the last person to leave hadn’t bothered to use it. Probably Henry. He’d likely headed here right after their chat, eager to rip a few holes into the target. Looked like he’d had to settle for stabbing the door instead.

There was no rule keeping them from entering the target’s room; if there was, then the target could just hide in there until they starved. But the guests tended to avoid just breaking in: made the game too easy. Well, except for Martin. But Martin was now a broken mess in the lobby, so it no longer mattered what Martin did.

The room was quite a sight: dresser on its side with the drawers sticking out, shards of ceramic underneath the window, phone on the floor. Cody carefully stepped over the sharp pieces of what was formerly a lamp and peeked into the bathroom. Ah, so _that_ was how she’d gotten away from Henry. Other than the open air vent, there was nothing of note in there. So he went back into the room.

Surprisingly, her things were barely touched. Wallace had likely gone through it while she’d been showering (and he had _definitely_ not guessed right on this target’s suitability for the game) but it didn’t look like anyone else had. Cody rummaged through her suitcase and found nothing that he deemed suspicious. Just clothes, basic toiletries, and a few cheap paperbacks. She’d said that she was only travelling for a few days; she didn’t need much.

He sighed. What a waste of time. He should be looking for Henry; see if he could try to calm him down. Or he could break into Wallace’s office, even though the guy was probably getting some entertainment from all of this. Or he could hunt down the woman instead of going through her things.

She probably kept her important stuff in her purse.

The purse that Lawrence would have taken from her.

He went down to Lawrence’s room, past JJ and Penelope’s room (and their corpses). He guessed that Wallace was going to have to remodel, now that Lawrence was dead. The next guest to have this room wouldn’t have Lawrence’s… _tastes_.

He stepped over the man’s body and tested the closet. Locked.

As he’d expected, after an easy lock pick session, the woman’s clothes were neatly folded on the closet floor, dark pink purse nestled on top. Knowing Lawrence, he would have waited until much later to look through it. Cody wasn’t as patient.

This target had been wearing a housecoat before the game had started and he hadn’t seen her when she’d killed Martin and JJ (just heard the screaming), so he had never gotten a look at this outfit. Cute, he supposed: little jean shorts, pink collared shirt. Nothing in pockets. He frowned at the pair of shoes (white, scuffed) in the corner.

Why bring two pairs of running shoes to such a short trip?

At first glance, the purse was just as dull as the suitcase. Two credit cards and a driver’s license, all with the name ‘Jennifer Cobb’ and an address from across the country. Some tissues, an unlabelled bottle of assorted pills, lip balm, and a tiny bag filled with jelly beans. And, tucked in a small pocket, a piece of paper.

He unfolded it, revealing a short note scribbled on a paper torn from a notebook.

_To my Jellie Bean –_

_I love you._

_I would miss you._

_Be careful._

Cody turned it over, looking for something more. But no. Nothing to tell him who wrote this or who, exactly, this woman was. He couldn’t even guess what the writer was to her. Parent? Spouse? Stalker? It looked like, if the night had gone as planned, that at least one person would have mourned her.

He put the note back where he had found it. No point in checking the phone: Wallace had found nothing useful there and Cody wouldn’t be able to do any better. The phone had suggested that no one would immediately come after her, if she had been killed tonight. The note didn’t quite suggest the opposite, but Cody was still suspicious about it.

He almost left the room, but then went back to grab the purse. If she was still alive (and he was betting that she was), then she’d want it back.

*

Cody hadn’t found her or Henry in her bedroom or Lawrence’s. The other rooms were locked; that didn’t mean that they weren’t in there, but it did mean that he didn’t want to go investigating. The doors were locked for a reason, after all.

The kitchen was also empty, as was the lounge. The garden door in the lounge was closed, but unlocked; when Cody peered through the window, he could just about see a shadowy figure walking around out there. Hard to tell who it was though. If he wanted to be mean, he could have locked the door. Watching the person’s reaction once they’d noticed could be amusing.

Nah. Henry would just scream a lot and Cody wouldn’t be surprised if the target just took her axe at the door to get back inside.

Besides, the mystery was gone: the figure had gotten closer and now he could tell that it was the target, holding an umbrella. She came up to the door and stared at him through the streaked glass. He backed away and gestured at the door, which she opened and went through.

She dropped the umbrella, eyed him for a moment, and then relaxed.

“Oh Cody,” she said, far too easygoing. “Hello there.”

He nodded.

“Are you following me?” she asked, taking a seat on the couch.

“Yeah. Because I’d rather know where you are. Seems like, if I let you sneak up on me, I’m going to get myself murdered. Am I right?”

“I guess now you know what your previous targets felt like.”

“That’s not something that I was really curious about, you know. Could have lived without knowing, if I’m being completely honest.”

“You have been the most honest person here,” she agreed, nail scratching away some of the blood that had dried on the axe’s head. “I’ll give you that.”

“You’re too kind. Other than, you know, the murdering.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“So who calls you ‘jelly bean’?”

Her head shot up and she stared at him with incredibly wide eyes.

He held out the snack bag that he’d found in her purse. “Want a jelly bean, ‘jelly bean’?”

The look she gave him made him grin: an odd mix of annoyance, confusion, and what almost looked like terror. She finally settled on a bemused smile.

“It’s rude to go through a lady’s things.”

“Not like I was the first to do it tonight.” He nodded at the sweets. “Are these poisoned?”

“No.”

“Mm.” He put it back into his pocket. “Not a huge fan of sugar anyway.”

She shrugged.

“Of course, even if I was, I wouldn’t believe a damn thing you say. Is your name actually Jenny?”

Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head. “No.”

“You going to tell me what is?”

Her smile turned teasing. “I thought you wouldn’t believe anything I say?”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. Here, this is yours.” He tossed her purse at the couch; it landed next to her. “Found it in Lawrence’s room.”

“Were my clothes there too?” she asked, looking through the purse.

Cody wondered if she was going to notice that he’d kept the note; she obviously knew that he’d read it. “Yeah. I can go grab those too, if you want.”

“Maybe later. Does he keep stuff?”

“Stuff?”

“That belonged to the people he killed. Trophies.”

“Oh. Yeah, he does. Showed it off to Henry sometimes. Wouldn’t shut up about it, if he got something he really liked or if he was very fond of that victim. He was obsessed with this one locket that he got off of…” He sighed. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. He probably would have kept your glasses.”

She touched her glasses, even as she continued going through her purse. It didn’t look like a conscious move. “They _are_ very nice glasses,” she said. “Had to pay extra for the colour.”

“Yeah, they look great on you. Mind if I sit down?”

“Why would I?”

“Well, I was planning on sitting next to you. That’s usually my couch.”

She shuffled over and dragged her axe off of the cushion. “Go for it.”

She’d even freed up his usual half of the couch. Had she noticed an empty space that everyone else knew not to sit in, earlier tonight before everything had happened? Or just a coincidence? Cody decided to not care; he had his favourite seat now, which he collapsed into. Perhaps unwisely, he turned away from ‘Jenny’ (maybe he should start calling her ‘jelly bean’, see if she would make any other fun expressions) and looked out to the garden. If it was daytime, if it wasn’t raining, he would have been able to see the pine tree Wallace kept in the yard. Its base was surrounded by yellow and purple flowers. He always liked sitting here, watching that.

He was partly surprised that she didn’t use his distraction as a chance to hit him with her axe. Instead, she kept searching her purse. She pulled out her phone, grumbled angrily under her breath (no service, of course; Wallace wouldn’t have turned that back on yet), and kept looking. Finally, she zipped it up and strung it over her shoulder. Then she sat back and resumed toying with her axe, fingers tracing the handle over and over again.

It was almost nice, the two of them sitting together in silence. The lounge had always been too loud for Cody’s tastes. Martin’s paranoid ranting and JJ’s giggling and Penelope’s chatter and Lawrence’s everything. The woman who wasn’t named Jenny was much quieter and nicer to sit with. Yes, she’d killed people. But so had everyone else and so had Cody. So, really, he couldn’t complain too much.

It was a shame that he had to kill her. Wallace would insist on it. He wouldn’t want anyone escaping and revealing the place to the police. Henry (who had much more to lose than Cody did) was likely panicking about that. If Cody didn’t kill her, Henry would be all too glad to do it himself.

She softly huffed.

“Hm?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just a pain to get this clean.”

‘This’ was the axe blade; she was still trying to scrape the dried blood off. It looked like she’d gotten most of the fresh off already, but the splotches that had turned rusty brown were proving to be harder.

“I think that there are cleaning supplies in the kitchen storage.”

“Maybe I should give that a try. I think that this is just ruining my nails.”

“I don’t even know why you’re bothering to clean it.”

She shrugged.

“Where did you find that anyway?”

“In the kitchen, with the rest of the fire safety stuff. I guess that even this place has to follow the fire code.”

“Ah.”

“But still: I can’t believe how stupidly this serial killer resort is run,” she said. “You’d think that you would hide the kitchen knives and the fire axes and the fire extinguishers.”

“The fire extinguisher?”

“Don’t get me _started_ on what you can do with those.” She got up, rested her axe on her shoulder, and headed off.

“Where are you going?”

“You said that there’s cleaning stuff in the kitchen, didn’t you? I’m going to go see if you’re right.”

_Don’t get killed by Henry_, he thought about saying. _I don’t know what you’re up to, but I know that you won’t be too scared if you just ‘happen’ to run into him._ Instead, he said: “I think that Wallace keeps it on the upper shelf by the sink.”

“Cody.” Her voice was hard.

He tensed, half-believing that this was going to be the part when she tried throwing that axe of hers. But no, the axe stayed propped on her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Don’t ever call me ‘jelly bean’ again,” she said, eyes narrowed and any trace of a smile gone. “Only my fiancé can call me that.”

“Sure. Sorry about that.”

“You couldn’t have known. Just don’t do it again.”

“Definitely. …Fiancé, huh?”

“His nickname for me.”

“No, I get that. But Wallace said that you were single.”

“Well, maybe Wallace should take a page out of your book and not believe a single fucking thing that I say.” 

“Mm.” He hesitated, then decided to say it: “So, Henry…”

“You going to warn me about him?”

“I’ve never seen him this angry. So yeah, I guess I’m warning you: he kept saying that he’s going to kill you.”

“Wow. That is completely brand new information.”

“Specifically, he said that he was going to make it hurt. That’s new for him. He’s not sadistic like Martin or JJ. And he doesn’t play like Lawrence.”

“And he doesn’t not kill?” she asked. “Like you?”

“Oh, I kill. Just because I didn’t kill you doesn’t mean that I don’t kill. But sure, I guess he’s usually more like me. Fast kills. Not much of one for the chase. Which means that, the longer you’re making him run after you, the angrier he’s getting. And it seems like, the angrier he gets…”

“The more it’s going to hurt.”

“Exactly.”

“And there’s no real way to avoid him.”

“I guess not.”

She sighed. “So I’ll just have to not get caught by him.”

“Going to do the catching first?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

He shrugged. “Have you given me any reason to think otherwise?”

She grinned and left the lounge.

*

Trying her phone again still wasn’t helpful. Not that she was surprised. She had decided that Wallace had done something to block any attempts to call for help. She shouldn’t have let him plug it into his computer. God knew what he had done to it. Why had she let him do that? He’d probably hacked into her data while he was at it.

_Not that he’d find anything,_ she told herself. _It’s a new phone._

She flopped back onto her bed. Maybe Henry wouldn’t think that she’d be stupid enough to go back to her bedroom, after what he’d done to her door. And it _was _a stupid move. But she was rapidly running out of places to hide. And she was getting a bit tired; any adrenaline she’d been running on was fading away. She wished that Penelope’s tea hadn’t been poisoned. That caffeine boost could have been useful.

She texted _alive but tired_, pressed ‘send’, and stared at the circling progress bar until it flashed ‘message unsent’. Then she slipped her phone back into her purse, got up, and grabbed her axe.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

She left the room and headed for the stairs. From there, she’d… Start yelling for Henry to show up? Break the windows to attract his attention? Knock down all the doors so that no one would be able to hide? It turned out that she didn’t need to make a decision. She didn’t even need to go downstairs.

There he was, exiting the kitchen, looking _extremely_ annoyed. Maybe this place was designed for people who wanted a cat-and-mouse type of hunting game. But this game had gone on too long for Henry’s tastes.

It had gone on too long for Jenny’s tastes too, come to think of it.

“I guess that you’re looking for me,” she called.

Henry froze… No, that wasn’t right. He stopped walking, but his entire body was vibrating. Fists clenched at his sides, violently shaking. Chest heaving up and down with heavy breaths. Then he walked towards her. Every step loosened his body, relaxed his muscles. By the time he stopped at the base of the staircase, he was completely still. Face expressionless, breathing steady. He pulled out his knife and nodded at her.

“Jennifer,” he said.

“Jenny,” she absentmindedly corrected, shifting into a defensive stance and lifting her axe. “No one calls me by my full name. Not even people trying to kill me.”

“I’d rather not call someone like you by such a childish name.”

“Are you saying that JJ’s actual name was JJ? Because you seemed fine calling her JJ.”

His nostrils flared, but that was the only sign of his irritation. “JJ’s not –”

“JJ seemed pretty happy telling me about all the boys she ripped apart, so let’s not pretend that you don’t want to call ‘someone like me’ by a nickname. Unless you weren’t talking about the killing thing. Maybe you meant something else.” She cutely tilted her head to the side and smiled. “In that case, what _did_ you mean?”

He laughed and the smile dropped from her face immediately.

“You’re something special, aren’t you?” he said, knife spinning around his hand. “I’ve been participating in this type of thing for a rather long time. You aren’t the first target to kill someone from the other side. Of course you aren’t. When faced with death, there are three options: fight, flight, or freeze. And when people fight, well, accidents can happen.

“But I _will_ say that I haven’t seen someone like you before. Not to say that there haven’t been little killing sprees from the target, on very rare occasions. But _you_. I agree with Cody: you look like you’re almost enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

Her nose wrinkled. “You were talking to Cody about me?”

“He’s told me enough about _you_,” he said, waving vaguely as if brushing the other man aside. “How you accidentally killed Martin and JJ, although I wonder how much of an ‘accident’ those deaths really were. How you hunted down an elderly lady. A friend of mine, by the way.”

She shrugged.

“Poisoned Lawrence as well. That makes four deaths. How many are you aiming for?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to survive.”

“Then you would have been out of here the instant you killed Martin.”

“Like the rest of you would have let me get out.”

“By all means…” He gestured behind him, down the hallway, towards the front door. “Leave.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No. But I do think that you may accept a deal.”

“A deal?” she repeated, lowering the axe slightly. “What sort of a deal?”

“The type of deal where both of us survive the night.”

“That seems a bit too good to be true.”

“All you need to do is promise to not reveal what happened here tonight. And then I’m fine to let you go.”

“I don’t think that the guy who runs this place will let you do that.”

“I’m sure that I can convince him.”

She frowned slightly. “It’s a tempting deal. I’ll admit that.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”

“I guess that the honourable thing to say is ‘you’ll just find some other fucks to replace the dead ones and keep doing this, so I have to stop you’. But, really, I just don’t like you.”

“So you’re going to try to kill me?”

“Yeah, I think that I am.”

“Girl, I outweigh you by fifty pounds. I’m five inches taller. And, unlike you, I’m not exhausted and potentially still partially drugged.”

“I did get you in the face,” she pointed out.

“A lucky shot.”

“Then I’ve been getting lucky a lot tonight.”

“That’s all it is: luck. No one was expecting you to fight back so much. If we had communicated better or worked together, you wouldn’t have lasted an hour.”

“But you didn’t,” she said. “And I did.”

“That is an issue that I’ll keep in mind for the next time.”

“The next time? You think that there’ll be a next time?”

“Of course there will be one.” He spread out his arms and smiled. “Haven’t you felt it? The thrill of killing? You must have. I haven’t spoken to you as much as Cody has, but I can see it. You _are_ having fun.”

“Not particularly.”

“You’re lying. Even to yourself. It happens to us, sometimes. At the start, we try to deny how much we enjoy killing. But it gets so much easier when you accept that you’re meant to do this. You may as well do it in an environment designed for you. So I have another proposal for you.”

She frowned.

“We’ll both survive in this proposal as well.”

“Stay here,” she whispered.

“Yes. There are some free rooms now – thanks to you – so I’m sure that you can settle in. Do you like this place?”

Her frown deepened. “What type of a question is that?”

“A valid one.”

“This place supports killing people. _I_’ve killed people here.”

“Do you think that I’m bothered by what you’ve done tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Must you have a smart remark for everything?”

“I’m sorry. I thought that you were asking me a question. But apparently you were just monologuing. Or maybe stalling. Carry on.”

Henry shrugged. “I’ve seen worse things that what you’ve done. I’ve _done_ worse things. I’ve killed people. I enjoy it. Not like the others do. I’m just appreciating a job well done. I’m skilled at it.”

“I have other skills.”

“Like what?”

“Like not fucking killing people, you sick fuck.”

He scowled. “You call _me_ a sick fuck, but I haven’t killed anyone tonight.”

“You weren’t the one trapped in a weird hotel with everyone trying to kill you. Maybe you should try that and see how you react.”

“I’m not the type of person to be hunted.”

“What? You’re the super scary hunter?”

“Well, it just sounds silly when you say it like that.”

“This entire fucking thing is silly,” she snapped. “You trap people in a goddamn bed-and-breakfast and play games over who gets to brutally kill them first. You’re all sick fucks. Forget the killing thing. You’re all sick for doing it like _this_.”

“Ah,” he said. “I was wondering when anger would hit. It’s a good look on you.”

“Fuck you. I’ve gotten enough creepy compliments for tonight.”

Another shrug.

“And I’m right. You know I’m right. At least Cody admits it.”

“Cody? Who gives a fuck about –”

There was a noise behind him. He turned around, just in time to see Cody’s dark eyes and a metal pipe flying towards him.

The first swing cracked a rib. The second brought him to his knees. The third to the ground. He propped himself up on an elbow, the other arm raised to protect his face. But there wasn’t a fourth hit. Cody stood there, panting slightly and trembling. The pipe pressed against Henry’s chest, keeping him down, but he didn’t swing it again.

“You’re right,” she said as she walked down the stairs. “If you people had sat down and talked and actually used some goddamn teamwork, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Henry muttered something that sounded like ‘fuck you’, but it was hard to tell who it was directed to.

“As for me, I’m pretty good at teamwork,” she said, raising her axe.

Her first hit didn’t kill him. Not for lack of trying: it was a well-aimed strike, the blade burying itself into his chest. But not deep enough. He still had life and air enough to scream. She pressed her foot against his shoulder, using it for leverage to pull the axe out. And bring it back down. After that one, Henry still had the strength to grab the handle before she could lift it again.

“Bitch,” he hissed. “You horrible –”

She slammed her heel into his stomach, sending blood splattering out of his mouth as he wheezed. He let go of the axe, but that didn’t stop her from kicking. She did it again and again until Cody grabbed her shoulder.

“Stop it,” he said.

She stepped back, until his hand slipped away, and nodded. Then she swung the axe, landing it squarely in Henry’s neck. It didn’t go all the way through, but the man stopped his strangled breathing regardless. The next swing still didn’t take off his head, and wasn’t necessary, but Cody didn’t stop her.

It wasn’t as if it mattered anyway.

The stairwell smelt of iron now, with blood sprinkled like confetti over the floor and wall. And the two of them. Her swings hadn’t been neat: blood had rained off of the axe, hitting both of them. Not the first time she’d been covered in blood tonight. First time for Cody though; it had always been his least favourite part of killing. The mess.

“Are you going to put that down now?” he asked.

She looked away from Henry’s corpse to stare at him with her dull eyes.

“The axe,” he clarified.

Instead of answering, or reacting at all, she turned around and went upstairs. He heard a door close; probably her room. God knew what she was doing up there. Cody took one last look at Henry and then went off to where he’d much rather be.

*

Cody pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the lounge window (he wished that there was daylight, that the rain would stop, that he wasn’t such a horrible person) and tried to feel something. He felt numb, mostly. He usually felt numb, if he was being honest. But now he wondered if the numbness was there because the only alternative was screaming.

The door cracked open.

He jerked around, metal pipe half-raised. He knew who it was. There was no one else it could be. And he couldn’t say that he hadn’t been expecting her to follow him. Maybe a bit surprised that she had gone back downstairs so quickly, but not surprised that she was here.

Her shirt was covered with blood. So were her hands. Her face. Her axe. Her glasses, however, were clean. She must have wiped them off before she’d joined him.

He must have been just as bloody as she was. He didn’t want to look down to check.

They stared at each other. Each still holding their weapon, each tense.

“Hi,” she finally said, very softly, axe slipping from her hand and falling onto the floor with a dull _clunk_.

“Hi,” he replied, leaning the metal bar against the wall. He turned back to the window, squinting to see through the rain-streaked glass. It was still dark outside; it wasn’t even five in the morning. The worst of the storm looked like it had passed over, although the rain hadn’t stopped yet. The garden definitely wouldn’t have to be watered anytime soon.

“Fuck,” she groaned, sitting down on what had been Penelope’s favourite chair. “_Fuck_.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck,” she repeated, although this one came out stuttered through hiccups. Her face was buried in her hands and she was shaking.

“Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”

She cracked her fingers apart, revealing watery eyes.

“You know that you don’t have to pretend that you’re having a nervous breakdown, right? You know that I’m not buying a single thing that you’re doing.”

She lowered her hands, delicately clasping them in her lap. Yes, her eyes were shining with tears. And yes, her face was crumpled in distress. But something seemed off to Cody. She wasn’t sad or panicking or anything of the sort. She was… Well, Cody wasn’t too sure _what_ she was. But she definitely wasn’t sad.

“It’s been a weird night,” she said, all traces of incoming crying gone.

“I’d say so.”

She rubbed one of her eyes with the heel of her hand, skewing her glasses and smearing what remained of her mascara. “So why wouldn’t you believe that I’m having a nervous breakdown?”

“Because I’m not an idiot. And I know what a nervous breakdown looks like. Seen enough of them. Caused enough of them.”

She was silent for a moment, as she adjusted her glasses back into place and twisted her fingers back into her lap. Finally, she asked: “It’s just the two of us left, right?”

“And Wallace.”

“Wallace,” she murmured. “Forgot about him. I assumed that he went somewhere else for the night. He’s in the last room downstairs, then? The one that’s locked?”

One of the few rooms that hadn’t been a crime scene tonight. Cody nodded, knowing that it was just putting Wallace in danger. But also knowing that the woman was lying about where she thought Wallace was. She must have been pretty sure that that room was Wallace’s hiding spot during the games. It wasn’t like he was giving her any extra info.

“Is he a killer too?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “He doesn’t play the game. Don’t know if he ever has. But he’s the one who organizes them, so… Guess it depends on your definition of ‘killer’.”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t call him innocent.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Is this a lucrative business? Like… How much do each of you pay him to run this serial killer resort?” She weakly smiled as she used the term again.

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Enough. He gets paid enough.”

“Shit, I wish that _I_ was paid ‘enough’.”

“What do you do?”

“What do _you_ do when you’re not killing people?”

“Teach,” he said. “English literature. Focus on the impact of short stories.”

Her smile brightened, looking genuine for one of the few times that night. “That’s interesting.”

“And you?”

“I save people,” she said, in a tone that clearly said that she had no intention of clarifying that and with a widening smile that said that she was aware that the vague answer was irritating.

“You’re annoying,” Cody said, because he felt that she needed to know that.

“So I’ve been told. People like me anyway.” She got up and walked towards him, smile fading with every step. “Cody…”

“What?”

She walked into him, face hitting his chest and snuggling in, despite the bloodstains there. She lifted one hand and rested it beside her face. “Thank you so much for your help,” she whispered into his shirt, the fabric bunching in her clenched fingers. “I really appreciate it.”

His hand hovered hesitantly over her head and then stroked her hair. In between the sticky blood, it was silky soft. He let his hand rest there, smoothing down the flyaway strands.

“Thank you,” she repeated.

He wasn’t that surprised when a knife slid into his chest.

It was hard to tell through the pain (_oh God oh God so much pain_) where she’d hit him. Didn’t seem like the heart, or else he’d already be dead. But close to the heart. She’d been aiming for the heart. How nice of her: it would have been a faster death than the others.

She stepped back, taking the knife with her. He could feel it catch on his skin on the way out, feel the blood gushing out to drench his shirt. He stumbled backwards, weakly coughed, and sat down. Well, ‘collapsed’ would have been a better word. She knelt next to him; his vision was already going black, but it didn’t look like she was happy. No longer that fake sadness. But not happy.

He debated if he should ask her to hold his hand, but dismissed that idea for one last question: “Did you like it? Killing?”

“Killing you or killing in general?”

He shrugged. It was all he had the strength to do.

“Not as much as I thought I would.”

Even now, she wasn’t giving straight answers. If he could have, he would have laughed. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to push back the pain. It wouldn’t last much longer.

*

Jenny stayed on the floor until Cody’s chest stopped moving and then for a few more minutes. Then she placed the knife on the floor and started rummaging through his pockets. 

She gently slid the bag of jelly beans to the side and pulled out a note that was soaked with fresh blood. She unfolded it and could just read ‘_ellie Bean_’, but the rest of the ink was smeared or covered with red. It went into her pocket.

The next pat-down revealed a pistol, heavy with ammo.

“You could have shot me at any time,” she muttered, checking the number of bullets left. Not full, but enough to kill someone. She sighed and slid the gun into her waistband.

Nothing else, unless she counted the metal bar. She eyed that for a second, then ignored it and took back the knife. She wiped it off on Cody’s jacket and stood up. She hovered over his body, mouth hesitantly opening to say something, and then shook her head and turned away.

She picked up her axe on her way out of the room.

*

The doors in the bed-and-breakfast were solid, but nothing particularly strong. Wallace had figured that his guests wouldn’t appreciate it if the visitor had barricaded themselves in a room and they couldn’t get in. With enough force, one could break down a door.

Wallace wished that he’d reinforced his own door. He hadn’t expected anyone breaking into his office though. And – if he had anticipated someone doing so – he wouldn’t have guessed that a woman would have enough strength to do it. But Jenny Cobb, who had seemed so sweet when she’d checked into his place, apparently did have enough strength. And she also seemed to know exactly how to use that axe to break down doors.

Wallace gripped his handgun a bit tighter in a shaky hand. Shit, shit, he’d _never_ killed anyone. That wasn’t his idea of fun! He liked organizing. He liked watching. He liked the pleasure it gave his guests. But he would never kill anyone!

Part of the door cracked; Wallace was half-convinced that he could see the shiny metal of the axe through the wood before she pulled it out. Another _thump_, in the same place. And another and another, each aimed at that crack that widened with each _thump_. Oh, she was going to get in soon. She was going to break in and then she was going to kill him like she’d killed everyone else. Why hadn’t she just left?

She hadn’t left because he was too good at his job. There wasn’t any way out of here. He knew that the windows in the front were an issue: he’d had two people break them in previous parties. But the glass breaking made _such_ a noise that it immediately attracted all of the guests, who all acted a lot faster when they suspected that their visitor was about to escape. But other than that, he was pretty sure that there wasn’t any way out of the place.

He could just give her the code then! That had to be why she wasn’t leaving. Didn’t explain why she’d killed anyone. But it did explain why she was trying to break in. Yes, that had to be right. She just wanted a way out. A nice way out that didn’t involve any breaking of windows. Yes, he’d give her the code and then she’d leave and then he could get to cleaning and wiping away any trace that he had been here.

The door finally gave under her axe and it flew open.

He whimpered and pulled the trigger. He’d never killed anyone before. Never. Never, ever. He wasn’t a killer. He’d just shot a woman. His mother had always said to not hurt ladies and he’d just shot one. No, no, he didn’t want to kill anyone.

He didn’t hear any screaming. No thud. And, when he peeked into the hall, he didn’t see anything. No corpse. No woman clutching the bullet wound in her gut. No… Actually, he _did_ see something: the bullet hole in the wall. He hadn’t hit her.

Then she appeared in the doorway; she’d been hiding.

She had a gun too. He’d seen her pick it up from Cody’s corpse. Fuck, _why_ had he let Cody bring a gun? House rules said no guns! That was too easy and too loud and bullet holes in walls were annoying to patch! Cody had promised that he wouldn’t use it during games, that he just liked having one with him. And Wallace had believed him and Cody had never used it and now Jenny had it and _she_ had never promised to not use it.

And she was aiming at him. Fuck, she was aiming at him and she’d already killed six people tonight and this wasn’t good.

“Hi, Jenny!” he said, trying to point his gun at her. He was shaking so much though; one second he was aiming at her chest, the next at the wall, the next at the floor. If he pulled the trigger, he had no idea where the bullet would end up.

Her hand was steady. All of her was steady, from the hand holding the gun to the hand holding the axe to her blank face. Wallace couldn’t even see her breathing.

“Y-You’ve been busy!”

Nothing.

“T-The code to the front door is six four seven. So. Um. You can go back to your car.”

She didn’t. She stayed there, gun still pointed at him.

“So I guess that you heard about my place and wanted to check it out?” he asked. “Wanted to get in on the action? I really wish that you had just let me know! I would’ve booked a spot for you; I was getting a bit crowded, but I think that Henry was thinking of moving on. Or I could have recommended a place for you. I know some places. None as cozy as mine, but some are really nice. Very fancy.”

Her nose wrinkled, ever so slightly.

“Bigger, too. Mine’s on the small side. But some people like that! A great place to make friends, like I told you. Remember?”

“All friends,” she said, voice as steady as the rest of her.

“Yeah! Yeah. All friends. I mean, we don’t…” He trailed off, not sure how to finish that thought. We don’t usually kill _each other_? Just the visitor that I set up? Although, having more than one visitor wasn’t a terrible idea. Some other places had more than one visitor for their guests to have fun with. A much bigger hunting party.

“We don’t…?” she prompted.

Wallace jerked back to attention, struggling to focus on her. “We don’t kill each other,” he said, deciding to stick with his first thought. “That’s not part of the fun. You understand? The rules say that we only kill the people I say to kill.”

“Like me.”

Oh, she _had_ been a perfect target. Up until the point where she’d starting killing everyone. But he wasn’t going to tell her that. It wasn’t something that she needed to know. Hopefully she’d never know that.

“So, um… Did you want to join up?” he asked. “I mean, you seem so good at this!”

That hadn’t been the right thing to say. She didn’t look pleased that he’d said that. He didn’t know how he knew that, because her expression hadn’t changed at all, but he got the feeling that she hadn’t appreciated the compliment. His guests had always appreciated it when he’d commented on how well they’d killed the latest visitor. They liked it when their good work was noticed. It was just polite to compliment them, Wallace figured. He always liked it when they congratulated him on another fun party.

But she didn’t thank him for the compliment. She didn’t do or say anything. Maybe she wasn’t like his guests. Maybe she didn’t want to be here. Or maybe she liked it so much that nothing he could say would change her mind about killing him.

No. No, that couldn’t be true. There had to be _something_ he could say that would get her to leave. Or join him. He’d prefer it if she left, but he’d be fine if she chose to stay. He wouldn’t even make her help him clean up! He’d made one guy do that once, because his killing methods had been so, _so_ messy. Eventually, Wallace had had to ask him to go to another location. The amount of time it took to clean up after him had just been ridiculous and –

She lifted her gun.

He screamed and raised his own gun. Oh God, oh God, he had to shoot her. She was going to kill him and he had to say _something_! Anything! Something had to be the right thing to say that would make her stop! He didn’t want to shoot her, but he couldn’t think of anything to say!

She fired much faster than he could organize his thoughts. His shoulder burned and he squealed with pain, falling out of his chair. By the time he realized that he’d been shot (actually shot!) and that he’d dropped his gun as he’d fell, she was right next to him and had her gun aimed at his stomach.

He tried to grab his gun and she shot him again, this time in the knee. He shrieked, curling up into a ball with one hand pressed against his knee and the other against his shoulder and both hands were getting wet. Blood. His hands were covered in blood.

“Oh,” he groaned. “Oh no, oh no.”

She kicked away his gun, far out of his reach. He couldn’t get up. His knee hurt too much. If he got up, would his knee break? Would she kill him if he stood up? She couldn’t kill him. He wasn’t going to kill her! He wasn’t a killer! The others were. They all were. He couldn’t blame her for killing them. But he wasn’t like them!

She was slowly moving the gun, shifting between his chest and his head. Her expression was blank, so empty, even as he guessed that she was debating where to shoot him next.

“Please!” he screamed. “Please, don’t shoot me!”

“Alright,” she softly said.

“Al-Alright?” he whimpered. “Thank you. Oh, _thank _you!”

“I won’t shoot you.”

The light of his monitors flickered off of the axe’s head as she lifted it.


	5. Epilogue

Shower. It was time for a shower. Leave the office. Go upstairs. Go to the room that you were given and take a shower. Bring the axe with you. There were seven people in this place, other than you. All seven of them are now dead. But still bring the axe. Just in case.

Yes, time for a shower. Rinse off all of the blood. There is a lot of blood. So much blood. Third shower of the night and still so dirty.

When you throw up, make sure that it ends up in the toilet. Not the shower. You need the shower to get clean. You can’t get clean if there’s vomit all over the floor.

Finish showering. Now get dressed. Two outfits are covered in blood, one is still damp from the rain, and you will never wear that nightgown again. Good thing you brought more clothing, although you’re out of running shoes. You’re not sure how you got so much blood on the shoes. Especially the bottoms. Must have been tracking blood all over the place. Can’t wear these shoes.

Sandals and sundress then. He likes the sundress.

Take the axe. Head downstairs. Unlock the front door. Six four seven.

Go to the kitchen. There’s nothing in there. You can relax there.

Just past six o’clock. Sun will come up soon. Breakfast time. Can’t cook, but there are plenty of boxes of cereal. This one’s not open yet. It would be ironic if you died now from poisoned cereal. Don’t trust the milk though. You don’t know what the others eat or what they hope that their target will eat. Unopened, dry cereal is your best bet.

Eat. You haven’t eaten anything since that protein bar after the second shower. It’s not too early for breakfast. You have breakfast earlier than this all of the time. Usually after a full night of sleep, but you’re used to eating this early. Now eat.

The only unopened boxes are bran flakes and very sugary cereal. Go for the sugar. You might as well treat yourself to something nice. Treat yourself to a second bowl too, because that first went down pretty quickly.

Car coming up the driveway. Stopping at the front door. Footsteps. Someone trying to get into the building. Good thing you have the axe.

Glass breaking. Door opening.

“Ellie! Ellie, where are you?! Ellie!”

Six thirty. Right on time.

“Ellie! Oh fuck!”

Ah, he’d probably found Martin.

“No, no… ELLIE!”

That was enough screaming. She swallowed down her mouthful of cereal.

“I’m in here,” she called out.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Frantic footsteps, followed by a rattling doorknob.

“The _other_ door, Darren.”

“Shit, shit, my bad.” The kitchen door opened, hard enough that it bounced against the wall as he ran in. “Oh fuck, you look exhausted. Are you okay? You look okay. Are you hurt? What happened? What the fuck happened to that guy by the front door? What happened to _you_? Is everything –”

“Too many questions,” she said, pushing her cereal bowl away and standing up.

“Right. Right, sorry. I’ll let you settle down for a bit. Just… _Shit_, Ellie.”

He reached over and yanked her to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She did the same, breathing in the smell of coffee and his never-quite-clean car.

“My Jellie Bean,” he cooed, face pressed into her hair. “I was so worried. Spent the whole night worrying. Didn’t get any fucking sleep. Did you?”

“Not willingly.”

“Fuck, you can tell me about it later. You can tell me everything later. Fuck, Ellie. Never do this type of shit again. Think you shaved a few years off of my life.”

“Sorry about that.”

He kissed her forehead and nestled his chin on the top of her head. “Come out and give me a hand. I’ve got all of the gasoline in the trunk.”


End file.
